Stolen
by BigEvilShine
Summary: Sosile has an odd relationship with the Justiciar. When he begins blackmailing her she's forced to deal with their tumultuous relationship. Ondolemar X OC.
1. Chapter 1

"A bow? Really, in this space?" Ondolemar asked, crossing his arms. I licked the sweat from my upper lip, knees trembling as I kept my conjured bow taught and trained on him. I steeled my spine, keeping a sure grip on the glowing lavender arrow. He stepped closer and I matched him, stepping back until my elbow grazed the dewy stone of the Understone Keep walls. A smile flickered over his lips, his eyes glittering in the dark of his hood.

"Don't thieves usually use small deadly blades, not big cumbersome bows?" he pressed, moving to block the exit from his chamber. I glanced around the room, a bead of sweat crawling down the curve of my spine. I was trapped, a Justiciar wizard blocking my only exit. "Not so cumbersome I can't stick an arrow through your heart," I warned, meeting his golden green eyes.

"A thief, an archer, and a mage. Tell me, what could someone so _cultured_ be looking for in my bedchambers?" he sneered. I pressed my lips together, my arms beginning to tremble from the effort of keeping the arrow drawn. There wasn't a choice in the matter. We either fought in this cramped space or I played along until I found a way out of this. All I needed was a moment to slip through his fingers and I could get out. My first mistake was forecasting my choice in my eyes, my second was letting the arrowhead lower just a fraction, and it was all he needed.

His elven mace knocked the bow from my hands, splitting into the skin of my knuckles. I cried out and tried to move back, to gain enough room to conjure a dagger, but my shoulders met stone all too quickly. The Justiciar dropped his mace, clattering metal ringing through the room, before slamming his arm against my throat, pinning me to the wall. I gagged, blinking back tears as I focused on my spell, but froze as lightning crackled just a finger's breadth from my nose. Ondolemar bared his teeth in a feral smile, our faces lit in the vile light of his magic. Reluctantly I let the magic dissipate from my palms, attempting to hide the fear knotting my stomach with a glare at the high elf.

"One more time, Sosile, what were you looking for?" he questioned, eyes lit with pent up energy. The Justiciar spent his days pacing the great halls of the Understone Keep, his hands clasped behind his back as he forced himself to let his guards deal with any heretics. The Justiciar had been craving any reason to rip someone apart, the incessant boredom and repetition of his life driving him to near madness. He pressed his arm into me, soft creaks of cartilage sending small shots of pain darting through my neck. I gulped past my suddenly dry throat, trying to scrabble back as the Justiciar seemed to teeter ever closer to the brink of burning me alive.

"Food," I wheezed, trying and failing to keep the tremble from my lips, "I'm so hungry," I croaked. His lip pulled back, exposing sharp white teeth as he viciously searched my eyes. The pressure on my throat increased for a moment before suddenly releasing, sending me to my knees where I coughed miserably. "You expect me to believe you broke into a Thalmor Justiciar's private quarters for something as common as food."

"Look at me, Ondolemar," I gestured at my loose clothes and gaunt face. The way my bones seemed to nearly break through the skin, the dark pressed in shadows around my eyes. I was closer to falling dead from hunger than by his magic. The elf looked me over, a growl ripping from his chest as he flexed his fists.

"Did you get lost in this miserable Keep? The kitchen is in the direct opposite direction," he stood over me, frowning. The snapping purple and white disappeared from his fingers, giving me only a small comfort.

"So is the Jarl's room. After the cook got killed by the Dark Brotherhood there hasn't been less than ten guards choking that end of the Keep," I snapped, voice sore and rasping. The Altmer snorted as he crossed the room, scooping up his mace and holstering it to his hip before taking a seat at a small table. He sat with his knees wide, resting his cheek against his knuckles as he leaned on the hard stone Dwemer furniture. I remained seated, rubbing at the red friction marks blossoming over my skin and pulsing a weak healing spell over split knuckles. I glanced at the door. Ondolemar was seated as far from it as I. He chuckled when I slumped my shoulders, kneading my sore muscles and staring haughtily at the floor.

"Smart girl. Now come over here," he waved his hand towards the chair opposite him. When I didn't move he brought a ball of fire into his palm, clawing his gloved black fingers over the molten flame. I threw up my hands and climbed to my feet using the aid of the wall, my legs trembling with the effort of lifting my emaciated form, before crossing the room and plopping down in the offered seat. We faced each other, my hands gripping the frayed edge of my cloak, while he crossed his arms over the stone.

"Tell me, Sosile, what has brought about your current state of near death?" he asked conversationally, pouring himself some Cyrodilic brandy. We hadn't seen each other since I'd taken care of Nimhe and helped him out with incriminating Ogmund nearly a year ago. Then I'd been healthier, firm with lithe muscles and sporting soft skin that wasn't held taught over my bones.

"The short end of things? Attacked by bandits and stripped of all my possessions. Then Falmer attacked the bandits and took some of us down into their caves," I rubbed my face with both hands, callouses scraping my dry skin. "Took a few weeks but I got out. This was the closest city; I should've just broken into that abandoned house instead of coming here. I wasn't thinking straight." My shoulders slumped as I slapped my thighs, blinking up at the Justiciar. The atmosphere was decidedly less deadly with the elf nearly slouching against the table. The monotony of his daily routine perhaps made my appearance an interesting waste of time. For the moment.

"I imagine that would have trimmed down on those enormous thighs of yours," he said offhand, making me roll my eyes. I had never had fat thighs. "Here," he pushed a bowl of apples and plate of bread and cheese towards me. My back stiffened and my dry mouth felt the smallest bit wetter. I looked between the food and the elf, itching to eat something besides chaurus chitin for the first time in what could have been an entire season. Ondolemar flapped a gloved hand at the dishes and I didn't waste time, ripping into a loaf of bread and in the same mouthful crunching a bite of sweet apple flesh.

I feasted with both eyes trained on the Justiciar, mopping trickling apple juice from my chin away with the back of my hand as I stuffed more cheese and bread past my lips. No one, especially not a _Thalmor Justiciar_, would feed me and not expect something in return. He grimaced openly at my manners, leaning away and resting his hands on his legs as I continued to messily tear into the meal.

"Are you going to turn me in?" I asked, looking around for something to drink. He pushed a bottle of jazbay grape juice at me and I uncorked it with my teeth, greedily guzzling the tart sugary drink. Ondolemar leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand.

"Take it as my thanks for your help with incriminating Ogmund," he stated. If I weren't so focused on not choking I would have called him out, knowing that he was going to hang this incident over my head if the opportunity ever arose. Ondolemar wasn't the worst mer I'd ever encountered, in fact he'd been rather pleasant for a supposed racial supremacist, but he wasn't a good mer by any measure. When I gulped down the last of the juice I didn't waste a moment getting to my feet and nearly running for the door. A hand shot out to grab me but I dove into a forward roll, bursting through the doors and charging for the exit. Behind me angry shouts rang out, the hiss of his guards unsheathing their glass swords accompanying the bellows. I launched over piles of rubble, my full stomach proving a hindrance but not so much that I couldn't lose the Thalmor guards in the dark and chaotic architecture of Markarth.


	2. Chapter 2

"Back again, Sosile?" Borkul grinned, his lips pulled tight over chipped tusks. I stuck out my tongue, earning a chuckle from the enormous orc. He stood guard as always in front of the way to the King of Rags. I rubbed my nose, no doubt smearing soil over my skin as I hefted the pickaxe over my shoulder. My arms trembled like the ground during a mammoth stampede; every drop of energy had been spent trying to escape the city guards after I was caught stealing a horse from the stables. I'd led a good chase, nearly reaching Falkreath hold before my horse and I ran headlong into a werewolf. I was thrown head over heels as the beast ripped apart the screaming mare. I'd hit a tree and had been knocked out, waking up only when the guards had bound my wrists and tied me to one of their saddles. It was as if Hircine himself wanted to keep me in the Reach. The guards marched me all the way back to the city, my cheap boots now flopping leather tongues when they'd ripped apart during the trek. Now, on top of having to repay the farmer for his horse and the fine for the hold, I had to worry about how to find a decent pair of shoes that would fit my tiny feet in this land of big footed Nords when I got out. My pickaxe met the silver ore weakly, simply bouncing back fruitlessly.

"I'll be here until I'm an old lady, no doubt," I griped to the bodyguard, throwing down the rusty tool and laying down next to the fire. My bones creaked as I settled on the flat of my back, every little movement burning my strained and sore muscles. I was no stranger to jails across the province but most I could escape from. Pickpocketing keys from guards, popping locks with lockpicks kept hidden in my short braids, or better yet sweet talking the guards until they just let me walk out. Cidhna mine was the one prison I had never figured out how to escape from.

"So how's the rebellion?" I asked, tilting my head back to look at the upside down orc. He narrowed his eyes, "you being smart with me, brat?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I managed to suppress my smirk. Borkul sighed, shifting his considerable weight from one bare foot to the other and looking up at the domed cave ceiling, "I'll never understand why you don't identify with our people," he growled. I let out a long-suffering groan.

"I identify with them fine. You and I share blood, but that's it. Do whatever you want with the Reach," I closed my eyes, not missing the orc grumbling about cowardice under his breath.

I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep until Urzoga banged her mace against metal bars, the horrible sound jarring through the entire mine as workers and prisoners stuck their heads into the main chamber to see what was going on. I sat up, the muscles in my back yowling in protest, and peered up at the raised platform.

The mercenary stood above us in all her fury and dented steel armor, her already naturally pinched brow pulled down low over her eyes and mouth set in a half snarl as she looked over her brood of prisoners. When her eyes landed on me she cracked her mace against the bars again, making me jump. "Get up, scum, it's your lucky day," she commanded in her gravelly voice. There were jealous grunts and cutting glares from the others as they slunk back to their respective sections of the mine as I creaked my stiff muscles while getting to my feet. Borkul and I locked gazes, his blinded and still viable eyes both wide and curious. I shrugged, knocking bits of gravel from where it stuck in my skin. Oblivion if I knew what was going on.

Urzoga opened the gate from the mine and dragged me through, shoving me towards the trunks full of prisoners' belongings. She followed closely behind me, kicking a trunk and nodding her head towards it, "get dressed."

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I opened the chest and exchanged my rough tunic and pants for my slightly more comfortable worn breeches, tunic, and cloak. Throwing my pack over my shoulders I followed the mercenary until she threw open the door to the outside and shoved me out. Stumbling forward I was blinded by daylight, the dim of the mine left my eyes wide and unprotected against the midday sun. Whining in the back of my throat I peaked from behind my hand, blinking away stinging wetness as the world came into focus.

Specifically a Thalmor warrior came into focus.

I stepped back, losing my balance and tripping onto my ass. The Thalmor remained still, a grimace curling his lips as I jumped up and began to make my way around him, not turning my back on the man as I moved towards the city gates. He had one fist resting on the pommel of his blade as he watched my odd retreat. In an instant he took quick long legged strides that brought me face to chest with his golden armor, a square of wax sealed parchment scraped the bottom of my nose as it was shoved between us.

"Here, from Justiciar Ondolemar," he stated. I frowned, wanting to ignore the Altmer and just run for it. However that hadn't paid off the last time I'd tried to escape the city. Straightening up, I cleared my throat and fiddled with the loose threads of my tunic, hesitantly sliding the message from between the Thalmor's armored fingers. Without another word the man turned on a heel and strode away, no doubt glad to be out of my presence and heading for somewhere that didn't stink of ash and acrid smelters. I stuffed the letter into my pack, reluctant to revisit anything having to do with any Thalmor and headed towards the marketplace.

I was haggling for a pair of worn children's shoes when someone called my name. The voice hit me like a happy kiss, dissolving my dour mood as I turned. Faendal trotted towards me, throwing out his tawny arms and grinning like the adorable wood elf he was. He pulled me into a hug that I gladly reciprocated, squeezing him around the shoulders as he did the same to my waistline. The Bosmer smiled against my cheek as we embraced, only pulling back when the townsfolk around us started having trouble moving around the packed market place. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the crowd without a word. I followed quickly, eager to go someplace we could speak without having to yell in each other's ears. I wasn't expecting to be accompanied by a tall Dunmer woman, much less led to the recently purchased Vlindrel Hall.

Standing in the spacious home that was overflowing in enchanted armor and rare jewels next to the Dunmer in strange ebony armor with small sharp pauldrons and Faendal in an expensive set of embellished leathers and tunic I felt horribly self-conscious. My boot soles flopped with each step and my clothes were ripped at every seam and joint. I'd tried my best to patch and stitch the tears but I'd only succeeded in looking more like a beggar than I had in fixing the damage. The Dunmer took the Daedric blade from her hip and set it on a weapons rack, unbuckling and pulling off her wicked black armor as she approached a Nord stirring a pot at the fireplace, "smells lovely, Argis," she smile, smacking him on the back.

The Nord was immense, towering over even the tall Dunmer and nearly twice as broad as her. A red swirl of brutal red war paint, or maybe it was a tattoo, marred his right cheek, his left eye a milky white. Argis grunted, shrugging her off but giving the woman a playful smirk. The dark elf continued back across the room, tossing her last piece of armor off so that she stood in a simple gray tunic and dark coal set of breeches, looking between Faendal and I expectantly. The Bosmer made a quiet sound of realization before introducing everyone.

"Iriala, Argis, this is an old friend of mine Sosile. Sosile, this is Iriala the Decisive and her steward Argis the Bulwark. Iriala's the Dragonborn," he added proudly, his chest swelling with pride for her. I stiffened, a thousand times more aware of how my clothes didn't quite fit and the way my neckline slid to one shoulder thanks to recent unplanned weight loss. The bloody _Dragonborn _smiled back, inclining her head just a bit, her cerise eyes playful, "the pleasure's mine. A friend of Faendal's is a friend of mine, I'd be insulted if you didn't stay for lunch." Immediately I blushed, my hands knotting into the edge of my cloak at her generosity. Swallowing thickly I stared at the floor, not able to meet her kind eyes, "I'd like that, thank you."

Before Faendal could get me to himself Iriala gestured for me to follow her. I obliged, trotting behind her like a trusting pup into her bedroom where she shut the door and stripped to her under clothes. Her dark ebon skin glistened in the candlelight, scars as silver as moonlight puckered and crawled over her flesh, the shining ribbons moving as muscles shifted beneath skin. She moved with an earned predatory grace, not unlike a slow stalking sabre cat. Iriala looked over her bare shoulder, smiling when she caught me staring at her body like a fool. I looked down at the floor, trying to hide the embarrassed flush burning up my sienna cheeks.

"Here, not to insult your dignity but I'd rather you didn't wear those rags in my home," she handed me a pile of clothes, knocking a pair of fresh leather boots on the top. I accepted the gift into my arms without thinking, gaping from the elf to the pile then back again. She waved a dismissive hand before I could protest, leaving me to change while she did the same in front of a wardrobe. I disrobed in a moment and pulled on the gifts, a quiet sound of appreciation escaping my lips at the strong soft cloth and leathers.

The dark umber leather leggings were soft to the touch and fit my short legs nearly perfectly, thick almond colored woolen socks reached a few inches over my knees just managing to show past the taupe leather boots. The mint green tunic was a touch too long, brushing the tops of my thighs. We talked while changing, commenting about superficial things like our preferred schools of magic or choice in weaponry. Iriala gave me an archery glove and tough leather arm guard when I mentioned my preference for the bow, commenting that I had more use for them than her and that Faendal was already drowning in archery gloves. I flexed my fingers, easing the soft leather over the thumb and first three fingers that were covered, my little finger and the edge of my hand exposed. I stuffed the glove in my belt when I was satisfied with the fit, then was hit in the face by a dark charcoal cloak lined with a snowy sabre cat pelt. I could have wept, noting the deep hood and cords of leather that could loop over small sabre teeth to close the cloak. When I looked up I was faced with a grinning Dunmer, her dark braid resting over a shoulder. She'd changed into a thick creme sweater and tan leggings, her feet tucked into dark boots.

"You're really giving me all this?" I asked, my voice cracking. She rolled her eyes, grasping the back of my neck and meeting my eyes, "I've more than enough to share. To be honest it's taking up space. I tend to hoard things. And none of that would have fit me anyways," she gestured to her tall, slim hipped, toned form. I felt my lips quiver and I quickly wiped my eyes before doing something embarrassing like bursting into thankful tears or mentioning how hard the last few weeks of a bad month of a terrible year of a miserable lifetime I'd been having. She was right, if this stuff fit my short legs and wide set hips then there was no way she'd be comfortable in it. With a tough shake of my shoulder she led the way back to the dining table. Argis was setting out jazbay crostatas and bowls of what smelled like venison stew. Faendal was already seated and I slid into the chair beside him, my stomach forming a painful empty pit as I looked over the steaming pastries, crisp apples and grapes, fresh cheeses and an assortment of wines, meads, ales, and juices. So this is how the rich and powerful dined.

"I see Iriala played dress up with you too," Faendal remarked, giving me a smirk and an obvious once over. Argis snorted, looking me over as well, "you've not lost your touch, she looked like a street urchin just minutes ago," he said to Iriala, taking a seat beside the dark elf. She beamed, pouring herself a goblet of wine, "I can't help that every one of you is shamefully lacking any fashion sense."

"You'll forgive me, Thane, for not thinking of my silks when we face a bandit clan," Argis grunted good naturedly, dipping a crust of bread into his stew. Taking that as a cue I followed suit, burning my tongue on the hot broth as I attacked the meal. Iriala flapped her hand, "and I expect that suit of carved Nordic armor has been _such_ a hassle to wear instead of that drab steel set. Poor, poor Argis, living in such squalor."

The slim Dunmer and bulky Nord continued to bicker throughout the meal, exchanging sly smiles and quick looks that had me feeling intrusive just sitting in the same room. I had finished the stew and some braided bread and moved onto an apple dumpling, licking the sticky crumbs from the corner of my mouth and quenching my thirst with a goblet of ice water. Faendal knocked his boot against my calf. I turned to him, wiping my sticky fingers against a hand cloth.

"What are you doing in Markarth?" he asked. I looked down at my half finished dumpling, shrugging, "I like the way the air feels in the Reach. I ran into some trouble a bit back and came here to hole up until I could get back on my feet," I explained away, taking another bite of the dessert. "Whaff abouff oo?"

"Iriala and I travelled together after she helped me with a situation a few years back," the elf in question interrupted with an ugly snort laugh but Faendal powered through, "we parted ways a while ago but she came back through Riverwood and offered to let me tag along with her for a bit."

"I never saw you as the adventuring type," I admitted, surprised to hear that meek little Faendal was an old companion to the Dragonborn. He'd always been so focused on that Imperial woman and his archery, I'd just never pictured him traipsing through the wilds of Skyrim besides to hunt. He took a sip of spiced wine, "I just felt like getting away from my life for a while."

"Speaking of which, I've plans," Iriala raised her hands, grinning at each of us. Argis kept a bored face but his eyes were lit with interest, Faendal looked like he were bracing for the inevitable, and I just stared at the giddy Dunmer as she refilled her goblet.

"Seems that I suddenly feel a bit more wanderlust than usual. Argis and I will be heading out this evening to hunt down some barrows or word walls, maybe a dragon or troll or both," she took a long pull from her goblet, smacking her lips when she pulled back, "Faendal, Sosile, you're both welcome to stay here as long as you like. Just make sure to lock up when you leave," she clunked down her empty goblet, getting to her feet and heading into what seemed to be a fully outfitted armory and enchanting room.

Argis turned to the wood elf and I, leveling a particularly brutal glare even with his blinded eye, at each of us. "If I find one thing amiss when I return I will gut you both with the blunt end of a stick," he growled, leaving the table with a sense of finality. I swallowed thickly, exchanging looks with Faendal. He shrugged, "so what have you been up to?" as if the sounds of the Dragonborn throwing armor around in the next room was the most normal thing in the world.

"Nothing too interesting, spent some time in Cidhna mine but was let out – " I stopped, got up, and marched to where I'd set my pack down. Shoving away the few scraps of books and potions I owned I found the letter and brought it out, staring down at the Thalmor symbol embossed in the gold wax.

"What's that?" Faendal asked, appearing next to me. I didn't have to look to see the moment he realized what I held, the feeling of his body stiffening was enough. Breaking the wax, I read the letter, bracing for the worst.

_Sosile the Stolen_

_I've waived your prison sentence and fine, however I have already repaid any debts I may have owed you and my services do not come without cost. Morndas evening I expect your presence in Understone Keep and your compliance in answering any questions I may have, lest I bring my queries to others who may be more interested in the information I've come across. _

_Justiciar Ondolemar_

"The Stolen?" Faendal asked, repeating the echo screaming inside my skull. My hands shook as I folded the note and shoved it into a pouch on my belt, trying to quell the rising panic making my throat close up. He knew. I don't know how he knew but he did and the Thalmor bastard was threatening me. He was going to broach the topic with the Jarl and there was no quicker way for me to earn a life sentence in the mine than for Ondolemar to bring up that information. I tugged on my pale braids, staring unseeing straight ahead as I warred with myself. It could all be bluff, just to lure me back into his clutches so he could properly roast me on his lightning magick for trespassing in his room. Still, of all the organizations to discover unsavory facets of my former life it would be the information mongering Thalmor. And really how could he be bluffing if he _knew my title_?

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," I muttered, shaking my head and rubbing the bridge of my nose. Faendal stepped in my path, grasping my wrists and staring into my eyes, our heights nearly matched, the short wood elf only a finger's breadth shorter than I. "Clearly that's a lie. You're getting personal mail from a Justiciar, Sosile, that's never a good sign. What did you do?"

"Nothing, okay, forget about it," I griped, not meeting his concerned eyes, "it's nothing serious anyways. Let's drink okay? I could really go for one."


	3. Chapter 3

Argis and Iriala left a few hours before sunset; both warriors dripping in wicked weaponry and armor that looked like it could stop a dragon's bite. Faendal and I were less battle lusty and managed to get our hands on some of the exotic liquors and alcohol the Dragonborn had hoarded, drinking our woes and reason away. The wood elf had let the Thalmor message issue drop too easily, likely expecting me to get sloshed enough to spill my secrets. Too bad for him I was a sleepy drunk and wandered off to bed before spilling any information. I wasn't sure if it was the steward's or the Dragonborn's bed but I fell asleep the moment my body hit the stone Dwemer furniture.

Waking up in Markarth was a difficult task. The original Dwemer architects were a subterranean folk that all seemed apprehensive about the outside world, leaving the city devoid of windows in a crippling way. The stone walls didn't afford the luxury of the sun's rays peeping between warped slats, nor the sounds of roosters announcing the new day or any other heralds of the rising sun. Blinking in the dim glow of the dying firelight and half melted candles, I felt around on the nightstand until my hand met the cool green stamina potion. Mumbles rumbled against my belly under the sheets, warm and ticklish. Frowning, I blinked down at the lumpy sheets covering my middle. Pushing back the furs I found Faendal nuzzling against my belly. He'd pushed one hand under my tunic, resting his palm over my hip and the other under my back. Letting the elf have his last moments of peace before waking up to a cruel hangover, I guzzled the stamina potion. I curled back my lips, shaking my head at the crispy minty sting of the potion that chilled from my teeth to my belly, spreading out like a cool burn to imbue energy in my fingertips and toes. The headache abated substantially, allowing me the displeasure of realizing how bad I needed to relieve myself.

Gently rolling the elf away I sprung from the bed and tottered around the house for a bit exploring. I found the bathroom after a bit and took care of any morning rituals before donning my new clothing and heading out for some fresh air. When I found the sky darkening to a cherry red, I let out an ugly groan. A passing guard startled, jerking his helm and giving me a faceless accusatory glare. It was already early evening; I'd slept the entire day away. I guess that had helped with dissolving most of my hangover but now I had to face the damned Thalmor sooner rather than later. Huffing, I tightened my new cloak, hooking the front closed, before reluctantly setting out for Understone Keep.

The cold seasons were upon the Reach again, the wind dusting frozen flecks from the waterfall against my cheek as I pushed open the heavy Dwemeri doors of the Keep. It was mid Frostfall by now, just the first taste of the upcoming cold in the air. I shivered, not looking forward to spending the next few seasons holed up Old Knocker knows where. I couldn't stay in Vlindrel Hall forever; even though the idea was appealing I couldn't impose on Iriala's kindness like that. I rubbed warmth back into my cheeks as I passed Thongvor Silver-Blood who was moping about glaring at the pacing Thalmor as usual. Really, he needed to find something more promising to waste his time on.

Shoving my hands under my arms I glared at my feet as I marched up the first set of steps leading to the Mournful Throne. Going north during the cold seasons was out of the question but travelling to the Rift wasn't of any interest either. Whiterun could be nice, the vast tundra somewhat reminiscent of the rolling and rocky lands of the Reach. Still, what could I even do for a living? Perhaps hunting but I doubted I'd make enough to afford a home through such means before I keeled over from old age. Lessons in conjuration were a pricey thing to do but there were so few mages in the land of Nords I doubted I'd make more than a few hundred gold a year from it. Stopping in front of Ondolemar, I sighed, guessing I'd be spending the next half of the year hiding in barns and stealing honest men's food when they weren't looking. Or worse, in the Warrens. Same as every year.

"Don't look so eager," the Altmer drawled, motioning for me to accompany him. I matched his pace, having to take longer, quicker steps than usual to keep up with him. I took a seat on the edge of the upraised fireplace in his room as Ondolemar shut and locked the door, his guards staying outside. He stared at me for a moment, the slightest of muscles twitches in his brow, before dragging a chair towards the fireplace and sitting. We faced each other in silence for a long time. He studied me from under his gold and black hood, and I looked past him at my daunting future.

"So you know something interesting about me," I prompted, ready to go back to Vlindrel Hall and back to sleep, maybe under the duress of a sleeping elixir. The Justiciar made a sound of affirmation, setting his hands over his middle. The picture of practiced nonchalance. "How does a blooded Witchman of High Rock find herself in Markarth?"

"So you weren't bluffing," I groaned, roughly rubbing my face. He chuckled, sparing me a mean smile, "oh no, not when it comes to you, darling." There was too much going on to reprimand him for the term of endearment.

"Alright, I was born a Forsworn, what else do you want to know, Justiciar?" I asked, dropping my hands with a loud clap to my thighs. It wasn't that I was ashamed of the fact, it's just a bit difficult not to be branded a villain when just about anyone living in the Reach has had family slaughtered by my kin. Ondolemar watched the fire behind me, his green eyes catching yellow sparks and glints.

"Tell me of the Forsworn. As much as the Aldmeri Dominion is capable of, your kinsmen are allied with creatures that have made gathering information… difficult," he finished. I suppressed a tired smile, the high elf wasn't wrong there.

"We live in small communities, scattered here and there. Men tend to do the hunting, women the gathering, but that's just a general rule. You're guaranteed to find exceptions within every group. Generally there's a hierarchy of the main populace. Hagravens are their matriarchs, it's through them that the Briarhearts are created and most learn hedge-magic," I recalled, slumping forward over my crossed legs and resting my chin in my hand.

"Hagravens are corrupted women, witches and shamans that have traded their humanity for power and prowess. They're not the kindest of leaders but they look after their brood as well as anything without a drop of parental love could. Do you have anything you want to know in particular? I'm not sure what to talk about," I asked, studying the patterns in the shining door across the room.

"Tell me about the Briarhearts."

"Always male, I've always assumed it's the lesser equivalent of becoming a hagraven, and any women strong enough to survive the ritual are turned into hagravens instead. The heart is removed and replaced by their namesake, the briar heart. The ritual temporarily kills its subject who's then revived by the matriarch with a tremendous lack of, I'm not sure what to call it, maybe self control? Maybe autonomy is a better word. Their humanity is lessened; they're also under the hagraven's beck and call more so than before."

"You refer to the Forsworn in a detached manner for someone born amongst them," Ondolemar observed. I shut my eyes, disappointed he'd turned the focus of the conversation on me, "is that a request for explanation or just a statement?"

"I think you know."

"_Fine_. I was born into a settlement here in the Reach, lived the first nine or so years there as easily as could be. Practiced my own weak hedge-magic, ran all over the place. Even now I know my way around this hold almost instinctually. The day came when Nords raided my camp as retaliation for something my group had done. I was abducted and placed in a Nordic orphanage with other parentless little bastards. Apparently it was some form of rehabilitation. To tame the little Forsworn brat, save me from my unfortunate birthright. It wasn't until I reached adulthood that I came into contact with my old tribe again where I learned I'd been given an interesting title," I scratched my cheek, wishing we could be discussing anything else. A Thalmor knowing my personal information was near the top of the list of worst possible things, right under pissing a Thalmor off by withholding information.

"You were offered a welcome back into your savage family."

"You're not wrong."

"Yet you refused."

"Have you ever _seen_ a hagraven, Ondolemar?" I snapped, sitting upright. "They're filthy, _horrible_ things. Used to be women, just another mage too enraptured in her own magic to realize what was happening to her. I may be a born Reachman but I have lived as a Nord for too long to see anything in the Forsworn but madmen so enrapt with taking back the Reach that they are willing to sacrifice their very beings to monsters," I bit my cheek, glaring up at the ceiling as I tried to calm. "No, going back to them is out of the question. I'm no longer Forsworn."

"You never were a Nord," he pointed out. I shrugged, "so I exist in a limbo, it's really not so hard when it's all you know." He seemed to sort through his thoughts for a time, his brow furrowed as he stared at me. Uncomfortable, I ran my fingers through the fur of my cloak. I didn't like the pressure of his gaze, as if he were punishing me as well as searching for something. I rubbed at my collarbone, not meeting his eyes as my chest tightened.

"What is you relationship with the Forsworn as of this point in time, Sosile," he sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees with his fingers pressed together as he waited for an answer. I crossed my arms, "I'm labeled Sosile the Stolen, what do you think? Tell me what the word stolen implies."

"You're an object of interest, one that they still view as being their own," he played along. I nodded, "if my kinsmen see me I am set upon. They take my protests as signs of the Nord brainwashing and seek to fix my ailment. But I've been able to keep out of their hands fine, takes one to know one and all that," I dismissed, moving away from the fireplace when I became too warm. Ondolemar remained in his seat for a moment longer before standing and facing me where I fidgeted with my hands near the door. He moved closer but I held my ground, however I was not beyond giving him increasingly worried and distressed looks as he bore down on me, nearly looking straight down to meet my gaze. I felt as if he were crushing me with his mere presence.

"A fugitive to both your kin and your aggressors," he observed, a malicious smile gracing his lips, "I'll expect your cooperation every Morndus and Fredas evening until I'm adequately versed in these Reachmen. Should you decide to forgo any of these meetings, well then, I certainly feel no shame in admitting I have access to the Jarl's ear," he shrugged, a leering grin bearing down at me. I grimaced, turning around and marching to the door.

"Fine, just keep your mouth shut."

"No fight, no empty threats? Don't want to end up back in the mine?"

"It's almost cute that you think my options between a lifelong sentence in the mine and giving my humanity to a hagraven are funny. Now let me out," I snapped, pointing at the doors. He folded his arms, raising his eyebrows but made no move. "We've barely talked at all."

"We'll catch up next time," I bit back. Ondolemar reached around me, momentarily trapping me. My breath caught in my throat, my chest feeling tight and nervous as I felt his body heat, before the lock clunked and he pulled the door open. As I sped out of the room, taking long steps to cover more ground, he called after me, "those clothes fit you nicely, Sosile, be sure to dress for me again next time."

I hunched my shoulders up to my ears, biting my tongue and glaring straight ahead. What a bastard, a complete and utter piece of high elven trash. I rounded the corner out of the hall that housed most of the denizens of the court's rooms, wanting nothing more than for someone to pick a fight with me. Just so I'd have an excuse to eviscerate them. Approaching the stairs I found Faendal getting to his feet, sending me a cheery, tired smile as he stood.

"What are you doing here?" I asked too sharply, the ferocity in my voice surprising me. His smile faltered, "I was worried so I came to wait for you." If this were any other situation I may have thanked him or at least let on how fond of him and his caring ways I was, but this involved private matters that threatened my citizenship. Giving him a curt nod I grabbed his hand, starting down the stairs, "don't do it again, I told you I'm fine."

"Oh, yes, you look like you've the situation totally under control," he deadpanned. I spared a cutting look over my shoulder then stopped when the wood elf darted down in front of me, blocking my path and holding my hands in his. I obliged him by stopping rather than shoving him down the stairs and out of my way.

"You're mad," he observed.

"I'm frustrated," I corrected.

"Want to get a drink down at the inn?"

"Please," I groaned, my shoulders falling lax. I hadn't heard a better idea in ages. Faendal's grin recovered and he pulled me with him, locking an arm around my hips as we descended the remaining steps. I slid an arm around Faendal's slim waist and looked back towards the Mournful Throne as it went out of view. Ondolemar stood with his hands folded behind his back, his studious green eyes narrowed at the wood elf and I.


	4. Chapter 4

"No, no, no, no please don't. _No_," I dodged Faendal's grabby hands, moving through the crowd at the Silver-Blood Inn with less grace than the already drunk Bosmer. His face had twisted into a wicked leer, his third bottle of Black-Briar reserve long since drained and abandoned in favor of catching me. The inn's patrons were getting a good laugh at my stumbling and the persistent elf.

"Just one dance, come here!" he laughed; grabbing my arms and yanking me flush against his front. I grumbled, cheeks burning at the contact. He set his hands on my hips, walking us back to the other dancers and the bard who was belting away and thrumming his lute. "You're a brute," I mumbled, propping my arms around his waist. He chuckled, stepping on my toes as he walked us around and swayed haphazardly while leaning heavily against me. I could smell the drink on his breath as he twirled us in lazy, awkward circles.

"Whatever happened with Camilla?" I asked, alcohol burning away my apprehension about broaching the topic. Faendal's hands dug into my sides, his sharp fingers making me wince. He took a deep breath against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"She married Sven while I was away with Iriala," his voice was thick with contempt. I moved my hands up his back, holding him in a hug as we continued to drift back in forth. The bard had moved onto a more somber tale, the energy in the room lulling. So that was why Faendal been so eager to drink these two days, he'd always been so reluctant to touch Nordic alcohol. "How have you been fairing?" I murmured.

"Fine, fine. Just, it's just – I really thought she was going to marry me, you know? That's what got me through the bad days. I'd just think about how easy things were going to be, just had to hold out until she realized it too…" We'd stopped dancing, standing still in the midst of jovial couples and merry drunks. I tightened my hold as he dropped his forehead to the crook of my neck. I felt warm wetness spread against my shoulder as Faendal sniffled. I rubbed his back, blinking back my own sympathetic tears. Through the blur I realized we were being watched. Across the way, sitting by herself was an Altmer whose attention was trained on the wood elf and I.

"Faendal, I think it's time to call it a night," I said gently, leaning back so I could look at his face. He sniffed, his nose and cheeks gone a ruddy red while tears shone in his dark eyes. With a nod he let me lead him away, leaning heavily against my side while I kept a supportive arm wrapped around him. I glanced briefly at the high elf, confirming that she was watching us from the corner of her angular eyes. It was a paranoid thought for sure, but there were no female high elves living in Markarth besides one of Ondolemar's private guards. There were so many other explanations besides the Justiciar having me watched; she may be a recent addition to the city or a simple traveller. Her lip lifted just a touch, the faintest sneer marring her features when our eyes met.

Trudging up the steps to Vlindrel Hall with the stumbling elf was a trial. By the time I had the door locked behind me I didn't have the energy to stop Faendal from crawling into my bed. He was already asleep, tucked against my back by the time I flipped the covers over us both. He murmured, sliding a hand around to press against my belly as he wiggled up against me, tucking his knees behind mine. I'd allow it for tonight; it would be nice to have another source of heat, at least.

Waiting for sleep gave me spare time to think. I hadn't gotten to know many Thalmor in my lifetime, suffice to say Ondolemar was the only one I'd ever spoken to at length. There were times I'd come across a group of them travelling through the Reach but I'd never had the chance to interact with them. I'd been living in the Warrens for a short while, as I usually had to do during winter when I'd sought ways to make money and ended up meeting the Justiciar in Understone Keep.

After hearing a rumor about certain Dwemer researcher having trouble with a giant spider I set out to help the old fellow and earn some coin. I'd dispatched the spider and dealt with the lost research party in Nchuand-Zel, earning me a bit more than I thought I'd be getting. Also looting all those Dwemer chests and the bodies of Falmer and machines had helped. During this time where I was in and out of the Keep I first met Ondolemar.

He was scary. The Justiciar held himself in confidence, his posture impeccable and his eyes missing nothing. I'd never been comfortable around those kinds of people, the ones that don't miss a single thing and store their thoughts and observations within themselves. Maybe it was from my years as a petty thief, but I'd always had the worst luck with those kinds. Unfortunately this made the Thalmor a subject of curiosity, one that I often watched from the corner of my eye when given the chance. He'd caught me staring one day, no doubt having caught me and not said anything plenty of times before, and finally addressed it. The short end of the stick was that my constant questioning and forthright curiosity somehow didn't repulse him. When I mentioned that I was looking for work he'd brought up his issue with the bard Ogmund and his supposed Talos worship.

Being a money hungry fool, I'd obliged the Thalmor and ended up in his favor for it.

After the winter seasons I'd left the city and gone back to living off the fruits of the Rift. Hunting sabre cats, running from trolls, hiding from Forsworn, and defending my life from rogue mages had a certain sense of familiarity. However I wasn't beyond making mistakes and had ended up captured by a clan of bandits who seemed very intent on keeping me around for fun. In either a blessing or damning, Falmer raided the camp before anything unsavory happened to my chastity. Then came the weeks of living blind in the underground with snow elves pinching their captives with poisons and eating some of us alive.

At some point I managed to kick off the stupor of the poisons just long enough to conjure a bow. I'd stuck every one of those bastard pigs through with arrows, lighting my path with the lavender weaponry as I struggled through the bones and corpses of bandits and Falmer alike. Emerging from the cave tunnels after wandering for hours I made for the closest and safest settlement that I could think of, Markarth. Hircine took no pity on me as I walked to the capital of the Reach. No beast fell victim to my bow in that trek, leaving me near mad with hunger.

Perhaps it was that madness that had me heading into the Keep in search of food. It had been midday when I arrived in the city, which would make thieving from the vendors more difficult than my shaking hands could cope with. I'd wondered if perhaps the Keep's kitchens would be willing to spare me a meal and headed there only to be blocked by city guards informing me of the late chef's demise. Somehow I'd ended up in Ondolemar's room scrounging for a meal.

And now he had struck a deal for information on the Forsworn and was having me followed. I huffed, flipping onto my back. Faendal adjusted in a flash, keeping one hand pressed on my stomach while hooking a leg over mine. He snuggled under my arm to rest his cheek against my shoulder. I blushed a bit, looking down at his pale hair. Was he safe? If Ondolemar was having me watched then he already knew I was spending my time with the elf in the home of the Dragonborn… A grumble sounded in the back of my throat and I rubbed my face. As long as the Thalmor didn't mess with Faendal I'd play his game.


	5. Chapter 5

"Briarhearts are always men, shamans and hagravens always women. Briarhearts are more powerful than the shamans because of the ritual, and hagravens reign over everyone," I explained, popping juniper berries from a bush. Ondolemar sat on stone nearby, scribbling in a journal as I dictated. "I'm not sure how harvesting the briar buds works, it's one of those things the hagravens keep to themselves," I tucked a white braid behind my ear as the wind picked up, my thick cloak barely keeping the chill away. I squinted out over the rolling land, picking out a few goats in the distance. This was my first time venturing from the city since I'd holed up there to recover. I was doing better now; nearly a month had passed since the incident with the Falmer. Regular meals at Vlindrel Hall had my thighs returning to their former fullness and my face not looking so gaunt.

"Why do the Reachmen have such a relationship with hagravens? There are plenty of others they could have allied with that wouldn't require so much of them," Ondolemar remarked. I shrugged a shoulder, filling a pouch with the pale berries. "I suspect they didn't feel like there was any choice in the matter, the Nords can be formidable when pressed. The snow elves figured that one out. By Mauloch, it was only the Breton's subservience that saved us from the Night of Tears. That aside, it was more of a civil war issue than anything, if any other political or foreign parties joined in with the Forsworn that would be considered a move against Skyrim as a whole," I mumbled, throwing my arms up and stretching until my spine popped a few times. It was a miserable day; the sky was a blinding luminescent grey even in the early evening while damp cold winds buffeted the land. The Justiciar considered my words, looking out over the drab landscape with his arms pulled over his chest.

"Is it hard for you, living in Skyrim I mean?" I asked, beginning to pull leaves from the juniper bush out of idle boredom. There came a long-suffering sigh.

"Yes. It's cold year round, there is a noticeable lack of mer, and the Nords are anything but welcoming, I have to live in a miserable crumbling Keep that never sees the light of day," he grunted, "there's more but I doubt your lifespan could outlast my tirade."

"That bad, huh?" I smiled, enjoying hearing him talk about himself for once. I continued cracking a branch from the bush, "I've always wanted to go to Morrowind, myself. There's so much culture and magic with the dark elves, I'm a little jealous. It's too bad about the Red Mountain." Ondolemar made a sound in the back of his throat, nodding. I was almost enjoying myself, almost unaware of the strange mixture of ease and tension that had been building between us.

"The Dunmer are a capable people, no doubt the Red Mountain will be but another obstacle they will face down with ease," he seemed to catch himself, frowning and giving a quick shake of his head, "what of the Forsworn's faith?"

Admittedly a little disappointed that we were back discussing the Forsworn, I snapped a few berries between my fingers. The broken fruit made my fingertips sticky. "There's Aedra and Daedra worship, more so on the latter. Not much interest in Talos, in case you were wondering," I threw over my shoulder as I began walking away. Ondolemar was beside me in a moment, not willing to end our little talk. "There's worship of the Old Gods, Mauloch, a pact with Molag Bal, and of course Hircine. It's from his image that the Forsworn derive their tribal wear," I explained, shivering in the wind.

"Expand on these Old Gods," he demanded, having to slow his stride so he wouldn't overtake me.

"Ondolemar, have you ever encountered a true Forsworn?" I asked. He looked down at me, his lips set in a small frown, "yes. They were savages, their preference for spilling blood shown in their camps." I nodded.

"So for a people so passionate, who ally themselves with hedge-magic and wield such cruel and ugly weaponry, what would you expect from their gods?"

"To be more monstrous than their worshippers."

"Aye. The Old Gods are a mixture of the divines, Daedra, and other Aldmeri gods like Magnus or Jephre. There is no division of goodness in the ranks of the gods, but they are not viewed the same for the Forsworn as they are by you or I. The Old Gods are far more brutal and carnal in the Reachman's pantheon. Think of it as the beauty in violence, there's passion and love to be found in raw emotional ferocity. That's why they're so willing to become Briarhearts or hagravens, to be powerful and destructive is to be closer to and loved by their savage gods," I finished, hoping I'd done a reasonable job at explaining my thoughts.

"What of your faith, Sosile the Stolen?" he used my title like an insult, which in a way it was. Stopping on the crest of a hill, I planted a fist against my hip and stared up at the elf. "Not Talos, if that's what you're implying, Justiciar."

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if I thought that to be the case," he spoke as if I were a child. I ground my jaw, blushing in frustration.

"Oh really now, _Justiciar_. I seem to recall you dragging your feet on incriminating a certain Talos worshipper because you didn't want to make a scene," I snapped. His lips pulled back, his gleaming teeth bared just in the slightest as his eyes filled with loathing, "you forget to whom you speak, Manmer."

I opened my mouth, ready to spit insults and acid in the haughty bastard's face, when an arrow skewered into the ground at our feet. We broke apart, dropping into defensive stances and pooling magic into our palms. I caught sight of our assailant first. Of course, of all menaces in the Reach, it was a Forsworn archer. She stood strong, drawing an arrow when her arms stilled. She squinted, rising from her cover behind a stone.

"Sosile?" she called, her arrow still drawn but the bow now held down at her side. She was suspicious, still dangerous, but maybe a fight wouldn't have to take place. Licking my dry lips, I nodded. The woman frowned, her forehead wrinkled as her eyes darted between the Thalmor whose hands were crackling with lightning and I. Her next move showed on her face before she made it, giving me enough time to act.

I threw my conjured dagger, catching her shoulder. She cried out, the arrow fell from her fingers as she staggered back. I turned, grabbing Ondolemar's arm and pulling him along as I ran. Behind us the woman snarled, letting out a war cry that was quickly taken up by others. The rolling land suddenly seemed filled with howls, other Reachmen answering her cry. Cold sweat prickled my skin, my heart hitting the back of my throat.

"She knew your name!" Ondolemar shouted, yanking his limb from my death grip and easily catching up to me as I pushed my short legs to their limit. I didn't look back; instead I swept the land for Reachmen. Here and there I'd catch a burst of movement before they disappeared behind a stone or ravine. The darkening sky held no color, dark gray casting the world in shadow. My breathing was already labored, "my kin have a long memory."

We took a bend and were met with the sounds of shattering arrowheads against stone. The Forsworn had cut off the way we'd come, pelting arrows. Diving behind a squat charred tree stump I began to return the favor with a volley of my own violet arrows. There were a few grunts and snarls that confirmed I'd hit at least some of them but in the waning light I couldn't keep it up for long. My weapon stuck out like a beacon in the dark. I banished it in favor of a magelight that I flung with full force at the growing band of Reachmen hoping to cause a distraction, a woman yelping in surprise when the ball of illumination stuck to her belly. Ondolemar yanked me back down behind the stump as a flurry of arrows thwipped where I'd just stood.

"Can you summon atronachs?" I asked, slamming my back against his side and the tree as I tucked my legs in, hiding from the siege of arrows. A thrall, by Oblivion even a flame familiar could turn the scales in our favor. The tall elf was having trouble keeping his mile long legs out of harm's way but managed a shake of his head. I swore under my breath before digging into my satchel. I yanked out a white bottle, uncorking it with my teeth and spit the stopper to the ground where it was promptly bit in half by an arrow. Ondolemar was breathing heavy, but still managed to give the proffered bottle a disapproving look.

"Invisibility potion, two mintues. I've only got one so leave some for me," I hissed, pressing the mouth of the bottle against his lips. He slapped me off, apparently still possessing enough dignity to rip the bottle away and drain just over half its contents. He pushed it back against my chest just as he disappeared. Quickly chugging the last of the acrid liquid, I threw the bottle at the Forsworn and sprinted.

There was no way of knowing where the high elf had gone and I didn't waste time worrying about it, he was capable of taking care of himself. I clambered over a ridge, dragging my legs up the embankment and charging towards Markarth. There were only about twelve Forsworn in total but I could pick out at least three shamans skulking around. I kept my laborious gasps to a minimum, jumping from rock to rock when I came to a stream. As soon as my boot hit the other bank my nose became visible again, then the wisps of my pale hair that had escaped its braids. Up ahead I caught sight of Ondolemar's black robes, he had run into a Forsworn warrior and was whipping bolts of flame at the Reachman's chest. I caught up to him just as his enemy crumpled and grabbed the elf's gloved hand. He didn't resist me when I again led us through the wilds of the Reach, the snarled threats of my kin battering our heels.

The Forsworn were relentless. They knew this land by every stem of grass and divot in the countryside; we didn't have a chance in outrunning them. My throat burned with every breath as we ran and even then I could already see the Forsworn gaining ground, their cloaks of ice frosting the stiff plants and stones as they came closer. With a lunge I threw myself into Ondolemar, sending the two of us into a ravine covered by juniper bushes. Rough leaves and stems scratched my exposed skin as I landed on the elf. The moment we disappeared under the brush I clamped my body over his, attempting to compress us into the dirt and out of the Forsworn's gaze.

"You can't hide from the Forsworn!" a woman barked, seemingly just overhead. I stiffened, twisting a handful of Thalmor robes as my heart slammed in my chest. It beat so rapidly I was sure the Altmer could feel it through his clothes. There were answering shouts, warriors with hoarse voices snarling at each other as they tried to figure their next move.

"She's still here," a man promised, "what of the elf?"

"Fled, he was Thalmor, no loyalty in his kind." I felt Ondolemar react beneath me. I grabbed his wrist as a soft indigo light formed in his palm. Our eyes met and I gave a quick shake of my head. From the sounds of the group above us I doubted he would be less than overwhelmed.

"Sosile, show yourself," someone far off called, "appear before we burn this land to find your body."

"The girl's not fool enough to fall for your empty threats, Orrard. I'll just cast for a detection spell," a woman grumped. I stared at the elf under me, our eyes widening.

"You and your alteration," a different woman griped.

"Silence, this magic is awkward for me yet, I need to concentrate." I spared Ondolemar one last look, a pit already forming in my stomach as I realized what I had to do. I tightened my hold on his wrist; leaning forward until my lips were beside his ear, "wait until they have left, then longer before fleeing. Do not make a sound or they will hunt you." I was off him by the time his eyes shone in realization; his move to grab me came too late as I burst from the juniper bushes, startling nearly a dozen Reachmen into aiming their crude weaponry and magic in my direction.

"Sosile," a man stated, one of the horrible tooth bound swords held in his hand. He approached me with ease and confidence, the way the others fell back telling me he was of highest rank and the wholeness of his chest telling me he was no Briarheart. I met his eyes through the deerskin headdress, nodding once. He began to slowly circle, obviously appraising me, as the rest of the group fell into a ring around us. I stared straight ahead, already resigned to my fate. Somehow this scene had always been an inevitable part of my fate. I'd known I'd end up back with the Witchmen; the gods were nothing if not cruel. I took a steadying breath, slowly exhaling through my mouth as I flexed my palms.

"You've grown well, if not for your Nord posturing," he observed. I met his dark brown eyes, the sky gone nearly black in the early night. The only illumination came from a few scant handfuls of firebolts and misty white clouds of ice spikes ready to break bone and sever flesh. I didn't know this Forswon, but I didn't doubt he knew me. The bands of Reachmen were close knit. The surviving remnants of my old clan had long since spread and diluted with the other camps, and my story of being abducted by Nords had become infamous. I was as much an object of interest as I was a status symbol of power in the Reachmen's minds. If they could possess me, return me to their fold, it would be a triumph over the Nords.

"I do not posture. I am what you see," I replied through clenched teeth. The warrior slowed, coming to a stop before me. He took a single stride closer, coming within arm's reach. "It has been too long since you've been with your people, Sosile, we will forgive your forgetfulness. But you must remember," he moved before I had a chance to react. I didn't have a chance to scream, I could only moan when my hands met the hilt of his blade where it rest against my belly. Blood poured between my fingers, the red liquid trailing down my legs and back where the sword had broken through the other side. My throat closed up, lungs sealing flat against every desperate breath as blood rushed over my shaking fingers. Gushing scarlet liquid coated the Forsworn's hand as my vision began to tunnel at the piercing, crushing pain.

"The Forsworn will reclaim what is rightfully ours," he promised. With agonizing slowness he withdrew his sword. I cried out as each tooth dragged through, catching on flesh and skin. The sensation of the cold tip of the exposed blade slowly reentering the damaged core of my body had my eyes rolling in my head. With one final yank his blade was free and I fell forward, slumping into his arms as the wet splattering of my own blood sounded against stone and skin.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke up flat on my back, staring at the underside of a deerskin tent. I became aware of the cold, then repetitive grinding to my right. My limbs were heavy, my body nearly cemented into position with the drugged blood in my veins. It was all I could do to roll my head towards the sound. A woman in full Forsworn dress stood over a worn and chipped alchemy table working a mortar and pestle. I frowned, slowly recalling the last moments before… here.

My fingers were clunky and difficult to wield but I managed to grope at my stomach. My hands brushed over coarse bandages covering my bare abdomen, then moved lower to touch my hip. Ah, that's why I was so cold. Someone had changed my clothes from Iriala's gifts to the scant ragged garb of the Forsworn. I grimaced at the chill, shivering as I forced myself upright. A choked gasped escaped my lips at the sucker punch of the wound, my entire middle flaring into needling pressure.

"Wouldn't be getting up if I were you," the shaman said without turning. I ended up slumped on my back again, damaged muscles in my middle writhing like leeches beneath the skin. She turned around with the mortar in hand, dropping into a steady crouch and peeling back the bandages with a quick snap. I sucked in a breath as she none too gently began to scoop a mashed substance from the bowl and smear it into the fragile wound. From the smell I guessed blue mountain flowers and juniper berries were involved. Replacing the bandages she roughly rolled me onto my side where I bit my cheek and clawed the ground to retain my silence. After applying the paste to the wound in my back I was pulled onto my back again. I met the Forsworn woman's curious eyes.

"Where are we?" I asked. She rested her cheeks in her hands, elbows balanced on her knees, as she looked my body over with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Lost Valley Redoubt, southeast of Markarth," she said flippantly, apparently not under the impression that I needed to be kept in the dark of our location. Or just very talkative. I nodded; resting a palm over my belly, realizing the wound was almost a hand's-breadth long. It trailed from just beside my navel up to my left side, ending just before my floating ribs. The wound in my back stung from lying down, and if the pain were indication of location it would be much the same as my front only an inch or two higher.

"Am I going to be held on trial?" I asked, my fate a hazy mystery. The young shaman shrugged, leaning back and stretching, her pale muscled stomach shining in the gray morning light. "The hagravens are curious about you. Edwore's briar heart ceremony will be taking place soon; I believe they will want you to bear witness. It has been a long time since you've last experienced their guidance, perhaps the ritual will knock some of the Nord from your skull," she tapped her knuckles over my forehead before popping up on to her feet. Definitely talkative. "Are you in pain?"

"Yes," I answered flatly. In a moment she shoved a mixture of mountain flowers into my mouth, my cheek filling out with the presence of the buds. The shaman spared me a cheery smile before turning back to her work at the alchemy table. Slowly I chewed the flowers, salivating at the sharp green flavor and savoring the spreading ease of the numbing flowers over my lips and tongue. When I'd chewed it into a mush I swallow the cluster of crushed purple, blue, and red flowers. Blinking a few times, I managed to take a drink from the water skin at my side before I flopped back against the bedroll and slept from exhaustion.

The next two days were spent lying around with the camps healers checking on me. By the third I was up and moving around and capable of taking meals with the rest of the group, all who were keeping a strict eye on my movements. The hagravens remained secluded off, only taking audience with the shamans and Briarhearts as was custom, so thankfully I didn't have to see them. This camp had two current Briarhearts. The two men never seemed to be agitated or at ease, they spent their time wandering the length of the ruins and talking quietly with other Forsworn. It was odd; when they looked upon me I had a hard time figuring out if they were actually seeing me. Their eyes never seemed to focus in on anything in particular. I began to wonder how much the ritual actually changed its patrons.

Edwore had been the man that had skewered me through, and the next in line for the ceremony. He was the most gregarious of the entire camp, constantly leading hunting parties or telling loud tales of triumph or history over the Nords during meals. I never figured out why he thought it necessary to run me through when taking me captive, but I figured it had to be some form of bloodlust that had gotten the better of him. In my days wandering and speaking to various warriors and elders not one mentioned the high elf I'd been with. Hopefully that meant he'd gotten away without incident, not that his death was so inconsequential the warriors hadn't remembered him.

By the second week of regular medicinal treatment my wounds had healed into fresh red scars that no longer needed to be looked after. There had been permanent damage that the healers hadn't been able to stop, I quickly found any activity that strained my abdominal muscles would end in spasms and cramps not unlike a hot knife parting flesh. The new handicap left me even less capable of finding a means of escape. The camp was active even during the dark of the mornings and the Reachmen made sure that I was chaperoned, my sleeping space at the heart of the camp itself. If there were any hope of escape I'd have to wait until they trusted me a bit more.

I was chewing a mouthful of smoked venison and bread when Edwore appeared. His grin shone out from under the macabre headdress, his muscled body wrought with excited energy. I swallowed thickly, looking up at him expectantly.

"It's time for my ascension. Come, your presence is required," he allowed me one last drink of water before yanking me up by my upper arm and dragging me with him through the ruins. Staring at his back I couldn't stop the apprehension knotting my already abused stomach. I would be a liar if I said I'd never wanted to see how one of these rituals went down, but that didn't mean I was excited about being near hagravens. As he tugged me through a few taught skins acting as privacy blinds, the smell hit me. The hagraven perfume soiled the air with blood, iron, fetid magic, and rot. My nose wrinkled and my knees began to tremble. When we finally stood before the accursed women my vision began to tunnel.

"Sosile came back to us sister," one of the hags gurgled, her rancid breath hot and wet as she leaned forward to observe me. I stood stock-still, my body locked up as their clawed hands skittered over my skin, quiet squawks and grunts sounding wetly in their throats as they examined me.

"Yes, and the male has earned the briar for catching our wayward daughter," the other trilled, sending a shiver down my spine as an oily claw caressed my cheek. They tittered and soon had Edwore lying on a slab of stone set before the ancient draconic word wall. Bowls covered in old black blood and dehydrated gore covered the slab, soul gems and small daggers and embalming tools cluttering every inch that Edwore's considerable bulk did not. Suddenly a steel dagger was forced into my palm, one of the hag's closing my fingers around the old and tattered hilt.

"Our shaman daughter will assist."

"She will begin her brother's ceremony."

"A privilege."

"A gift from her mothers."

Their claws moved me forward until I stood over Edwore. I gulped, my hands shaking around the blade when I realized what they wanted me to do. The Breton on the slab looked up at me with fierce, adoring eyes. He knew what they wanted from me, he knew I would be linking us if I performed this task. Slowly the hagravens positioned my arms out so the dagger's tip pressed over Edwore's heart. The hags continued to coo and murmur in their vile voices. I had no choice. I couldn't run, they'd catch me and rip me apart in an instant. This task was my trial to earn the Forsworn's trust; it was either this hedge-magic or death at their unnatural hands. With one final apologetic look into the Breton's zealous eyes, I plunged full weight onto the blade. It snapped through his skin like a crushed berry, blood spurting up into my face as the hags guided my hands. The Breton jerked as his chest was sawed open by the old steel. The hags excitedly dug their claws into his body when I had done sufficient damage. The cackling women tore chunks of his flesh aside and dropped it into the bowls beside him until I had a clear view of his bloody ribs and beating heart beneath.

"Now turn the blade," one hagraven gurgled, her black eyes trained with lust onto the pulsating wound.

"Break the bone," the other's voice had dropped, heavy with dark intentions.

"Free the heart."

"Then tear it out."

As a claw tore down the length of my spine I was spurred on. Flipping my hold on the blade I slammed the hilt into his ribs. Edwore's eyes rolled until the whites shown, gurgling as his entire body trembled. It took too many hits, my arms burning by the time I shattered the ivory. I abandoned the dagger in favor of picking chunks of splintered bone from the wound, fully revealing his heart. The hags were near screeching with some form of debauched joy as they snatched the dagger from where I'd thrown it. I understood what they wanted and with one last look into Edwore's rolled eyes, I plunged my fingers around the beating muscle.

It was as if I'd always known how to sever a still living heart from its master. The attached arteries tore under my fingernails as I pulled and twisted at the muscle. It came free with a fleshy snap and wet sucking sound, the sudden release sending me stumbling back into the hagravens arms who were in near rapture. They chattered praise while removing the heart from my hands and moving forward, taking positions around the fresh corpse. Before his body could finish twitching the briar heart was dropped into his chest. The briar's spiked edges dug into the meat, anchoring it in place. The hags forced slivers of wood or antlers through the meat of his chest, forming rudimentary ribs. They raised their hands and one began to chant in her garbled voice.

"Heart of thorn… bones of the wild… in life, Forsworn," her sister joined her, a blue white haze beginning to spark and curl over the warm corpse, "rise from death, Blood of our Blood." I stepped back, my shaking legs hitting a gore spattered chest of the hags' possessions as the body began to wrap in ribbons of the azure white glow. In a moment he gasped, his body jerking upwards until he fell from the slab, grabbing handfuls of the grassy soil while continuing to wheeze and gag. The hagravens waited, quiet coos bubbling in the back of their throats as Edwore hooked an elbow over the stone slab and began to pull himself up, his unsteady legs seeming to solidify in strength in sheer moments. I blinked, the breeze catching the blood coating my face and arms, chilling ever drop of the liquid coating my skin. He turned sharply, glowing white absorbing into blood shot brown eyes as he calmed, his breathing returning to haggard gasps.

"You have done me a great honor, sister, mothers," he gave each of us a nod. The hagravens tittered, giggling at the attention. I tried not to notice the drying blood covering my hands, the ugly feeling of tackiness sticking to every hair and beginning to chafe. He moved towards me and I flinched, skirting the chest in favor of stumbling back through the deerskin blinds. I saw the Briarheart's face contort into fury just as a hand grasped my arm. A yelp choked in my throat as Edwore pulled his war axes from his belt, the two hags screeching in alarm as firebolts filled their ugly palms. In an instant I was yanked behind the pelts and suddenly running, chasing after the long legged man in dark robes. Rushing blood and water deafened me as we ran, as I realized who was encased in those black and gold robes.

"Ondolemar?" my voice broke, the wind icing the tears in my eyes. He looked back, his green eyes darting over me briefly before he yanked me to his side, throwing up a ward just as molten flame slammed into it. I gasped, squinting in the overcast light as I searched for an escape route. Snarls and war cries resonated all around us, the river flanked on both sides by archers and shamans and other Forsworn warriors who charged across the ruins bridging the river towards us. I grabbed the elf's robes and pulled him as my legs began to work again.

"Are you mad?" he barked as we neared the waterfall, however he didn't slow down as we charged the Bard's Leap Summit. The wind up here whipped like ice over my skin, stinging flesh as firebolts and arrows skittered and broke all around us. With a final snarling screech against my own fear and the sudden weakness in my knees, Ondolemar and I launched over the summit.

Time slowed as we left solid ground. The somber gray sky filled every drop of my world as the cold air buffeted every inch of skin as I fell, and fell, and kept falling. Where my mind told me I should have touched down my body did not obey, sending my stomach into my mouth as I screamed. When I managed to blink once and look down, time slammed back into the present. I hit the water like a rock, plummeting to the bed of the water basin where my palms scraped over the old stone. Water filled my mouth and nose, forcing its way into my lungs as I desperately clawed and flailed for the surface. In what seemed an eternity experienced in a drop of a moment I broke the surface and coughed water, heaving and spitting the liquid as I clambered up the slimy steps. Tears filled my eyes as I coughed and retched out the last of the unwelcome liquid, and by then Ondolemar had grabbed the back of my pelt brassiere and dragged me to my feet, burning any of the Forsworn that dared near us with bolts of lightning and flame.

He didn't let go of me as we stumbled from the camp, our sodden clothing slowing our movement. My stomach burned and cramped with every breath but I pushed through it. I conjured my bow and spared a few hasty shots when I could, keeping the warriors at bay as Ondolemar continued to pelt anything that moved with destruction magic. It wasn't until we were clear of the arches that he pulled me into a full out sprint and pushed his fingers into his mouth and whistled.

A gray and white stallion charged towards us and jittered uneasily when it came to a halt, the close war cries leaving the animal pressing its ears back. Ondolemar hefted me onto the saddle with one arm, swinging up behind me as I plucked arrows at our pursuers to cover him. He dug his heels into the massive beast and in an instant we were off, the horse pounding its massive hooves into stone and soil as we ran. I kept an arrow drawn even after the sounds of the Forsworn disappeared, searching the horizon for any movement as we rode. It wasn't until sundown that I began to relax, dismissing the bow in favor of a dagger and leaning back gratefully into the elf's warm body. Our clothes had long since dried in the chilled air, the robed arm circled around my abdomen blocking the freezing wind. Timidly I held onto him, shivering when his hold tightened.


	7. Chapter 7

We approached the stables of Markarth just after sundown. I reached down, clasping the arm over my middle as I retreated further against the elf. "I can't go in."

"Why?" he huffed, his voice a touch ragged. I shifted, glancing worriedly about as we continued to move closer to the stable hand.

"I'm wearing Forsworn dress," I tried to bend, to bow away from the stable hand's sight, as if he wouldn't recognize what I wore on the spot. The headdress had fallen off in our desperate leap but the scant pelts were instantly recognizable to anyone living in the Reach. Ondolemar continued to lead the horse into a stall, then dismounted. I quickly followed, hiding behind the horse and watching over the beast's shoulder at the stable hand. The warm cloth over my shivering shoulders had me flinching, looking back at the high elf in alarm. He'd removed his outer robe, standing in a dark tunic. His jaw was set, his eyes betraying fatigue. He turned me around by the shoulders, pulling the hood up over my head and yanking the front of the too long robes closed over my chest.

"If you let the hem drag I will have you executed. Now come," he said with finality. I wasn't about to argue. Gathering up a handful of the thick, warm fabric in one hand I padded after the elf, my bare feet scraping across the gravel.

The guards at the gate were apprehensive, as far as I could tell with their body language, but knew better than to hassle a Thalmor. They let the elf and I in without incident. I glanced towards Vlindrel Hall, wondering if Faendal yet remained there, but didn't want to test Ondolemar as he was at the moment. He quickly led me to his room and with a sense of dread I heard the lock clunk into place behind me. I turned from the fireplace, watching him as he moved closer. The elf looked me over for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before rather rudely ripping the robe from my shoulders. I opened my mouth the curse at him, but the touch of his fingers over my stomach had my jaw clamping shut.

"How are you alive?" the words were quiet, angry. I was pulled forward, my face pressed into his shoulder as he bent to examine the exit wound scar on my back, warm fingers trailing over the jagged ugly mark. That's right, the last he'd seen of me I'd been stabbed and carried off unconscious and bleeding by a pack of bloodlusting Forsworn. I tried not to lean into him, I really did, but the warm scent of canis root incense and the salty touch of his own musk staining his skin was too inviting.

"Would you believe they know their way around an alchemy table?" I tried to joke, but the sound caught in my throat when his fingers touched the long scratch the hagraven had left over my spine. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the wound, making me hiss and claw the front of his tunic.

"Hold still, my restoration is out of practice," he murmured, sliding a hot palm over the long line of split skin. I bit my tongue as the familiar touch of healing burned, squeezing my eyes shut as the spell sealed the simple wound as fast as it had taken to receive. It was nice, the gentle sting. For the days I'd been held with the Forsworn I'd only felt cold, the mild warmth of the fires never abating the chill of the ruins, the cold of a people who would sever their humanity for strength. Realizing I was clinging to his front, I stepped back out of his hold and stared into the fireplace, trying to suppress the heat crawling over my cheeks.

"Why didn't they kill you?" his question brought me back to his eyes, dark green glinting the white flecks of firelight. I looked away again, moving to take a seat at the table in his room. Despite my clothing the room was warm, and I was able to rub away the chilled gooseflesh covering my arms.

"Their victory is in winning me over from the Nord lifestyle, not in killing another Nord," I mumbled, staring down at the stone table. Ondolemar took his place across from me, our positions the same as the day he'd caught me trying to steal from him. "How long were you present for the Briarheart ceremony?" I asked, not looking up.

"Since the beginning. I had the woman at the Hag's Cure brew me an invisibility potion, I didn't expect – "

"I didn't do it willingly. That was a trial, if I didn't oblige them they would have killed me," I interrupted, crossing my arms and hunching my shoulders, ashamed. He'd seen the entire thing, watched me tear into that man; obey the hagravens with almost no fight. I closed my eyes, biting my cheek until I tasted blood. Maybe they were right, maybe I was one of their kin no matter my choices in life. The elf was quiet for a time, sitting with his hands on his legs, staring into his thoughts.

"The hags referred to you as a shaman."

"Hedge-magic came naturally to me as a child, the path they carved for me was that of a shaman. Beyond that, I don't know," seeing more questions form in his eyes I sought any means to avoid further interrogation, "why did you save me?"

That shut him up. I studied the way the firelight glistened off his skin as he worked his jaw, the white scruff dusting his chin shining silver. He wore his ivory hair long, loosely tied at the nape of his neck with the tail resting over his shoulder. I briefly wondered what it would feel like, silken as spun spider thread or perhaps as coarse as his personality. From the way the muscle in his jaw and the tendons in his neck pulled under the skin I found myself regretting asking the question. I had set myself up to get hurt, but it was already too late to back out. He stood, making me jump from the sudden movement before crossing the room and rifling through a wardrobe. Pulling a set of clothes out he threw them in my lap, heading out of the room, "change, your current attire is distracting," he slammed the door behind him.

I looked down at myself as I peeled the pelts off, a little amused. If my exposed body truly distracted him then it was laughable. I'd spent two weeks surrounded by similarly undressed individuals who had no qualms carrying out their lives while confronted with each other's nudity. Oh well, I couldn't be damaging the fair elf's innocence. The ash grey pants were tight at the hip and had to be rolled up many times, the white tunic sagged off one shoulder, the hem hitting me mid thigh if not a little lower. I pushed the sleeves up around my elbows, not enjoying flopping the fabric past my fingertips like a child. Sparing one last glance over my form I sighed. Not that I wanted to look particularly alluring around the elf but I also didn't want to look like I was drowning in fabric. I opened the door and ushered the Justiciar back in from where he'd been leaning in the hallway.

He looked me over with a smirk as I tugged the neckline back up from my shoulder, pointedly ignoring him. "I'd offer you footwear but it would only be a hindrance," he sneered. I waved him off, scratching the back of my cinnamon colored wrist. The days spent with the Forsworn had given my already tawny skin a tan, my alabaster hair standing out like moonlight. "Nothing more exciting than the Briarheart ceremony occurred. I'm eager to find something I don't look like a fool in, if you'd excuse me," I prompted, eyeing the golden Dwemer doors with longing.

"Where would you go, back to the Bosmer?" he asked, his words a touch too poisonous. I looked back, apprehension knitting my brow. He sounded upset, as if this were some personal slight, yet his face gave nothing away. I crossed my arms, ignoring the annoying slide of the shirt collar as it flopped open again, "yes, his name is Faendal if your informant didn't tell you."

"What is your relationship?" he somehow seemed too close, pressing into my personal space without taking a step. I shifted back, finding the air a bit thicker and harder to breath as his emerald eyes bore down on me. I looked everywhere but at him, noting how blood still clotted the cuticles of my nail beds.

"He's an old friend, taught me archery."

"That doesn't seem to be the entire case," this time he really did move forward. Just a step, just one simple little step, and I felt like I was going to crumble to my knees. I held my ground this time staring at the way his shirt collar split open a few inches past his clavicle, at the dip of his throat and the golden gleam of those few scant inches of chest my traitorous eyes eagerly drank in. "I don't know what you've been told but I'm not lying. He doesn't see me in the way you're implying."

"And how do you see him?" this time his voice had dropped, his shadow casting me in cold without the firelight. I looked up slowly, swallowing past a suddenly dry throat. The drag of my vision as it took in every minute detail, from his soft, grim lips to his pointed ears, seemed to build a hidden friction. I studied the curve of his angular jaw, the junction of where his pulse beat at a rapid tempo, delaying something that felt inevitable. Something I couldn't place yet seemed to have been there so long. The sensation became heavier and more potent with every procrastinated moment until I finally met his eyes. And time snapped.

He moved to grab me but I was already gone, ducking his telegraphed hands and darting for the door. I hit the gold frame hard, my stomach searing as I tore the heavy thing open and disappeared through. I made it to the end of the private quarters hall, confident I could give him the slip like I'd done before, when the overly long pant leg unraveled and caught under foot. I pitched forward, hitting the stone floor with a painful thud. I felt his hands yanking me to my feet, and then forcibly dragging me back. I tried to kick free but he held fast, and as I opened my mouth to scream I felt his fingers press down my tongue. Surprised, I gulped over the digits, eliciting a feral groan from the man that had my thighs pressing together. With one final movement I was flung back into his bedchambers. Again I stumbled forward, unable to catch myself and falling to my knees. Turning onto my bottom, I scuttled back until my shoulders hit the raised stone before the fireplace, my eyes wide and lips pressed into a tight line as I frantically glanced around the room only to land back on Ondolemar. He stared down at me, cast in the orange warm light his skin glistened as he slowly ran a hand through pieces of hair that had loosened from the tie, drawing the silver threads back from his face he gave me a final and full look into his eyes.

They were dark, filled with something I recognized and had fought tooth and nail to avoid. It was something complicated, something I couldn't learn from afar but that I had to sidestep so I wouldn't be pulled in. He stalked forward slowly, coming to an unsure but instinctually led stop over me. He lowered himself, touching his hands to the ground around my hips as his body forced my knees to part. I took sharp fast breaths, my heart matching the tempo as he stilled to observe my reaction. Again, the tension returned, that build of something phantom and unspoken between us.

Had this always been there? No, it hadn't, I would never have come back here if it had. It was new but old enough to have been an undercurrent between us for far too long. My chest tightened, as if something inside needed to be let out. The air was thick as stone, his presence a physical weight that pinned me beneath him. When I felt the moment begin to crest I tried to prevent it, to take measures against it, and lashed out. My palm struck him across the face with a resounding crack, shattering the odd warm friction in the air into cold emptiness.

He froze, his face remained turned to the side, hair hanging free of its tie as his features flickered between fury and confusion. For a moment I remained, sudden unwelcome tears brimming my eyes as regret writhed around my heart, a black ugly leech sucking and consuming the fullness that had just threatened to burst. Taking advantage of what little I could, I climbed out from under the high elf and ran, holding my side as the tight cutting pain sliced into my abdomen from where the muscles had been damaged. I couldn't keep up the run for long, but I hobbled as best I could until I reached Vlindrel Hall where I slammed on the door and prayed to anything listening that someone would be home. That someone would hide me from what lived between Ondolemar and I.

The gods were kind for once. Faendal opened the door, his face lighting with thankful tears and a trembling smile as he all but crushed me in a hug and pulled me into the warm home. I clung to him for a moment, breathing in the familiar pine and cedar chip smell that clung to the elf's skin. He released me, already babbling and wiping away tears while cursing me for worrying him so much. I shook my head, forcing another hug on the elf. I burrowed in against his chest, unhearing and wishing away the fear and regret in my chest.

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**AN: I'm getting reviews! You are all v sweet, I appreciate every word :3  
>Shannon: <strong>This sucker is totally jealous of Faendal, omg**  
>Buttercup: <strong>I'll admit, I fell in love with Ancano before Ondolemar but he's really won my heart...that body helps *winkwink***  
>CheereINheart: <strong>Thank you so much! People enjoying my writing's all I ask for UuU  
><strong>BubbleFettTea:<strong> 1) That is an excellent username you've got there. 2) YOU DON'T KNOW HOW HAPPY THAT REVIEW MADE ME, JEEZ.


	8. Chapter 8

Iriala was back and after her and Argis subtly threatened me I broke. I regaled the group with where I'd been for a fortnight. I tried to keep it simple, leaving out my birthright, but Iriala and Argis knew too much about how the Forsworn operated. I would either be tortured or killed, not kept alive for fun, so I had to fill them in on everything. And I mean everything. From how I'd been raised in a Reachmen camp to how Ondolemar had been acting strangely lately. I neglected describing our last encounter beyond that of letting on he had gotten aggressive and I wanted to avoid him until things cooled down.

Faendal was upset but beyond that there wasn't much anyone could do. Iriala scrounged another set of clothes for me from her seemingly bottomless dresser. Faendal and Argis offered to burn Ondolemar's borrowed clothes but I politely declined, washing and folding the set with intentions to return them at some point. Other than that I wasn't sure what to do with myself. A few days of moping around later I was dragged outside by Faendal and forced into a hunting trip. Argis stayed at Vlindrel Hall, apparently needing a break after accompanying Iriala, but the dark elf quickly invited herself on the hunt. I didn't mind, in fact I felt a lot safer knowing the Dragonborn would be coming along. No bandits, Falmer, or Forsworn would stand a chance against the lithe powerhouse.

"So this contract – " Iriala began, tossing an armful of freshly chopped logs into the fire, sending a swirl of glowing golden orange sparks into the night air.

"Deal," I corrected, seasoning the raw venison while Faendal built a small structure to skewer and roast the meat on. The dark elf rolled her red eyes.

"_Whatever_. Does it still stand?" she prompted, crouching down and adjusting some of the firewood, helping it along with a spell of incineration that had everyone jumping in their skin and coughing at the sudden billowing black smoke. I turned over the chop, rubbing herbs and salt over the other side while blinking against the eye drying ashy cloud.

"Do I think the he'll continue to threaten to tell the Jarl about my past unless I meet with him? Yes. Do I think he'll actually do it? Not really," I handed Faendal the chops, wiping my hands off on a rag as he set up the food to roast over the fire on a rotatable metal pike. Iriala blew her hair from her eyes, settling down on an overturned pot to watch the flames. "What are you going to do?"

"Fredas I'll show up like usual, give him back his clothes and answer anymore questions he could possibly have. Loredas morning I'll take a cart to Falkreath and set up there for a while, live as a hunter or just thieve my way through life. Not sure yet," I leaned back, twisting my head so my neck popped a few times. Faendal couldn't hide the tension in his brow, even from across the fire. "Isn't Falkreath too close? If Ondolemar decides to track you there isn't much ground to lead him astray with. And Jarl Siddgeir's thrown his weight in with the Imperials, he wouldn't try and defend you against any Thalmor business."

I scoffed, waving a hand, "there are no Jarls short of Ulfric Stormcloak that would lift a finger against the Thalmor, Faendal. Don't be naïve." The wood elf sighed but kept to himself, rotating the spit and crossing his arms against the chill. Iriala's eyes were narrowed; a look I'd learned meant she was thinking.

"I don't think he means you any harm, Sosile," she muttered carefully, for once her voice sober and serious. I pulled the new sabre cat line cloak tighter around my body, "how do you figure that?"

"For one he's still having you watched," she nodded to her left, making Faendal and I squint into the dark. I didn't see anything but wasn't about to mistrust the eyes of the Dragonborn. "What you described doesn't sound like a man after his property, no, only madmen, mercenaries, or lovers would charge into a hostile camp like that."

The frosted wind bit into my skin, my face flushing a flustered red as I hunched back defensively. My jaw set and I glared into the fire, looking for a rebuttal short of calling Iriala a liar. Luckily poor pure hearted Faendal was spluttering in indignation, buying me a few precious moments.

"Ir-Iriala!" Faendal shouted accusingly, "he's a Thalmor, he can't, he wouldn't – not that I feel this way _at all_," he clarified, looking at me before turning back to the Dunmer, "Thalmor don't see any other races as more than animals, even the other mer are lessers. There's just no way he would see Sosile as - as a lover."

"And you think I don't know that? I've travelled all over this damn province too many times to count; I've met Thalmor from Solstheim to Winterhold to hidden backwater Talos shrines – by Boethiah, I've been to the damn _embassy and spoken with the First Emissary Elenwen_. I'm very aware of how they think and behave and I can tell you from experience that Ondolemar's the odd one out of the bunch." She took a deep breath, turning to pin me with a near glare, "I'm not telling you that he isn't dangerous, you should be more careful than ever. If he really thinks of you in that way then he's likely to feel conflicted, threatened. We all know how beasts behave when backed into corners," she finished ominously. My mouth twisted, caught between trying to play this all off as a cruel joke and genuinely panicking. I rubbed my sternum under the cloak, noting the frantic heartbeat beneath.

"I really don't think he's, uh, _interested_ in me but his actions have been questionable for someone of his position," I relented, stuffing my hands in my armpits to keep from pulling out my own hair in frustration. Faendal sat across the fire, moaning and holding his face in his hands while Iriala's mouth twitched.

"Are you _interested_ in your high elf, Sosile?" she asked with a sly grin. My face was near on fire, I threw my head back and stared up at the stars in hopes the elves wouldn't notice the horrible blush. I searched the sky for answers, for anything that wasn't a lie but wouldn't make me admit to anything. Briefly I entertained the memory of when he'd forced his long fingers into my mouth, the masculine moan he'd barely let out from his throat when I'd swallowed and slid my tongue over the digits. My cheeks must have been an iridescent cerise by the time I forced the scene from my mind.

"I'm, it's not – okay. He's easy on the eyes," I hung my head in shame. The Dunmer laughed darkly, her eyes glinting mischievously as Faendal cried out into the open night air, clamping his hands over his ears and shaking his head. I bit my lip, glaring at the elves as I frantically tried to defend myself, "he talks rudely sometimes, well most of the time, but he's only ever helped me out," when I caught Iriala absolutely grinning I felt like admitting all that made me lose some kind of battle. Defensively I continued where I should have kept my mouth shut, "I could have done worse, and he's been considerate of me even if he's also been a little forceful."

"Oh?" Iriala's dark ears perked, her eyes lighting with wicked curiosity as she leaned towards me, "so you're into the dominating type, like when he uses that militant forceful hand on you?"

"Please stop, I don't want to hear this," Faendal quietly begged.

"Oh _shut up_, we all had to hear about your obsession with that Imperial for years on end before she wizened up and married the bard," Iriala snapped, making the Bosmer flinch.

"Come on, that's a little harsh," I interjected, but quieted when the Dunmer raised a hand.

"No, what's harsh is pinning your hopes and dreams and happiness on another person. That's a stressful and unfair thing to do to someone, there was no way any woman could ever live up to the perfect creature he'd constructed in his mind. They would have never worked out, not while he still held her on a pedestal," she said. I pressed my lips into a line, studying the toes of my boots. Faendal had turned quiet; his shoulders slumped as he continued to turn the spit. "You're right," he relented, looking as dejected as a wet pup.

"That I am. About both your situations. Sosile," she snapped, making me nearly jump to attention at the force in her voice, "you need to make a decision about the Altmer and be prepared for the fallout. I've no idea how he'll react, in all honesty, but Falkreath is lovely all year round if things get too hot," she advised. I nodded, rubbing my thighs against the cold night air, "I'll keep that in mind."

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_**AN: **__** Replies!  
><strong>__**LadyDragon1316:** You're so nice, gosh I'm all bashful now! Writing is hard but it's encouraging to hear I'm legible haha!  
><em>_**junosuhon:** *flexes pecs* AW YEAH *giant muscles burst buttons off shirt* TIME FOR THAT ELF TO TAKE HIS ROBES OFF!  
><strong>BubbleFettTea: <strong>Thanks for pointing that missing word out on chap 7, I goofed up BUT IT'S FIXED NOW, THANKS TO TEAM WORK *explosive high five in front of sunset*_


	9. Chapter 9

_**AN: Warning - Dub Con this chapter!**_

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Somehow, the hunting trip had me feeling a bit more confident. Sure, I wasn't buying into the idea that Ondolemar saw me as anything more than a means to entertain himself by pestering, but that was okay. I didn't really want there to be anything between us, he was just too far out of my reach in too many ways for anything substantial to ever form.

Plus he was objectively a terrible person.

Whatever had built between us wasn't something I needed to worry about. So when Fredas evening rolled around I buttoned my cloak and gathered up his clothes, relieved that this meeting would be the last stressful thing I had to do before leaving for Falkreath.

The Understone Keep was warmer than the whipping winds outside. I felt bad for the guards that stood sentry at the doors to the Keep; icy drops from the waterfall curtaining near the entryway constantly buffeted them. Trotting up the first set of steps leading to the Mournful Throne I chanced a look around, not finding the Justiciar and his guards pacing a rut in the stone like usual. Or anyone for that matter, even the court hounds were acting odd as they barely raised their heads to acknowledge my arrival. Usually the beasts would bark up a storm, the incessant howling would send Ondolemar into a irritable tangent.

Shrugging it off I continued on my way to his room, swallowing down any trepidation and refusing to acknowledge the sudden feeling of smallness. Again I was surprised to find the routine had been changed with no guards stationed outside Ondolemar's doors. Eyeing the door, I hugged the clothes closer and wondered why something felt wrong. A sudden flash of panic squeezed my heart, begging every muscle in my body to turn tail and leave. I could come back tomorrow morning when things weren't so peculiar, there was no shame in that. Shaking the intrusive thoughts away, I ignored the feeling in my gut and knocked against the heavy Dwemer door. Eventually it creaked open, swinging in to reveal the Justiciar.

"What happened to you?" I blurted, eyes round. He hung in the doorway like a wraith, one hand braced on the doorframe. The Altmer's eyes were buried in dark circles, lips pale, and hair hanging limply past his cheeks. Even his robes, the normally impeccable sable garment that he so proudly wore, sported creases and wrinkles while he shivered beneath the folds. He stared down at me as if I weren't there, the faint ember of firelight reflecting off his clammy sallow skin, casting his features in shadow.

"I am not used to this accursed country and its unseasonable chill," he bit out, the ferocity lessened by the weakness in his voice. I reached up, hesitated, then pressed the back of my hand against his sweaty forehead. He shook his head almost pathetically trying to remove the touch but by then I'd already gathered all I needed.

"It's Brain Rot," I stated, meeting his bleary eyes. "Don't you have any curative potions around?"

"If I had I would have drank them," he leaned his forehead against the doorframe, taking a deep breath, "my guards have gone out in search of an alchemist but those damnable fools at the apothecary are missing ingredients. What are you doing here anyway?" he frowned. Apparently the disease had taken a hold on the regimented elf if he could no longer remember his own schedule.

"Returning these," I hefted the bundle of borrowed clothes in my arms, "and watching you until your mer return. You look awful." I pushed my way into the room and was met with little resistance as he shut the door behind me. Dropping the clothes off on his dresser I threw back the sheets on his bed and motioned him over. I'd contracted enough diseases from being bitten by skeevers, wolves, sabre cats, and tripping through old rusty traps in my time to know how out of sorts and awful Brain Rot could be. The fact that it was hampering his connection to his magicka was another factor that no doubt had the high elf near madness.

Ondolemar was either too tired or ill to argue and flopped down on the stone bed, staring up at me with a small frown as I began to unbuckle his outer robes.

"I'll not have you taking advantage of me."

"Lying around in sweat soaked robes isn't going to make you well. And I don't think there's much for me to ogle anyways," I replied, earning a grimace as the elf fell limp back against his pillow. With a few grunts and a lot more effort than expected I managed to get him down to his tunic and pants. Those clothes were still sticky with sweat but I doubted he had the will to change himself and by Old Knocker I wasn't about to do it. The next few minutes I spent digging around his room for supplies before dragging one of the outrageously heavy Dwemer chairs to the bedside. I had to take a few breaks to catch my breath and kick rugs out of the way, but I managed. Dunking a clean hand cloth into a bowl of chilly water I began dabbing at the elf's face. He remained glaring at me while I wiped at his skin.

"Relax, Ondolemar. I'm not capable of doing anything bizarre to a sick mer."

"What are you doing this for? I won't rescind any demands I've made of you," he growled, but thankfully shut his eyes and fully leaned back into the pillow. I dipped the cloth and wrung it out, rolling my eyes, "I wouldn't dare imagine anything else."

"Then _why_, Reachman?" the strength had gone from his voice leaving a strange loneliness to the query. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I ran the cool cloth over his throat, dipping below his collar to wipe along his clavicle. Roughly I grabbed his ear through the cloth making him grunt, scrubbing it while I answered, "you're sick, quit trying to think."

Ondolemar fell into a quiet state, only asking for water every now and then or for the cloth on his forehead to be dipped and wrung out. I watched over him for a while, observing the pale scruff on jaw and icy white eyelashes. There was a certain handsomeness to the strength in his angular jaw, the straight nose and full lips. I particularly enjoyed the long pearlescent hair that had fanned out like a snowy wreath around him on the pillow, the tie long since loosing. Idly, I ran my fingers through the silken strands, surprised by the cool liquidity of them. Realizing what I was doing I snatched my hand back and got up, heading to the fireplace to rekindle the dying flames.

Sitting cross-legged on the stone before the fireplace, I rested my chin in my hand and chucked a few fresh logs into the greedy embers. Adjusting the tinder with an iron poker I tried to force Iriala's words from my mind. She was wrong, clearly the high elf held no more fascination with me than that of a means of occasional entertainment. I frowned, was I really that interesting? One would think a Justiciar would require something more cultured or dangerous to keep them occupied. Although the Understone Keep was utterly dreary and harshly boring. From the days I'd spent wondering about while hunting down Nimhe I'd realized the giant spider was the only truly interesting quality of the place. Calcelmo was fascinating at times but like any scholar he was hard to understand when he entered his speeches overflowing with Dwemer jargon.

I sighed a long tired breath as flames began to creep and lick around the offered logs. The Justiciar's guards threw open the doors, scaring me out of my skin, both of them breathing ragged with their weapons half drawn as they stared at me in surprise.

"Oh, it's just the Breton," the female sighed, placing a hand over her armored heart as she calmed.

"What are you doing here, human?" the male asked, his brow pinched into a bitter frown as he approached. He walked with his shoulders back, glaring down his nose at me. I met his harsh eyes with equally venomous ones, "taking care of your charge, what you two _ought_ to've been doing."

The mer opened his mouth, affronted and ready to skin me alive, when the womer placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and shook her head. She took the lead, stepping forward and holding a small red potion bottle out to me. I raised an eyebrow, setting both feet on the ground, "you want me to give it to him?"

"We would have slain you on the spot had we any doubts about your harmlessness," she explained, not quite answering why the guard wasn't going to help the Justiciar herself. Shrugging, I nabbed the potion from her fingers, making sure our skin didn't touch. Biting and spitting the cork away, I leaned in closer to Ondolemar whose eyes had opened into agitated green slits.

"Can you sit up a bit?" I asked. With an exhausted sigh, he slowly raised up on his elbows. I adjusted the pillow under his shoulders until he was upright enough to drink and not choke on the potion. Moving the bottle to his mouth he closed his warm, clammy fingers over mine with a weak gentleness as I poured the curative mixture past those pale lips. I tried to ignore the tingling sting his touch left on my skin. When he finished with the potion I wiped a stray drop from his lips, my stomach suddenly feeling tight as the pad of my thumb absorbed the liquid and stung with the same tingling. Mild heat rose to my cheeks, a strange feeling between embarrassment and caring threatened to fill my already tightened heart up to the brim.

Letting him lie back down I glanced up to see the two guards watching me with unrestrained curiosity and a little disgust. Brushing off my leggings and the lap of my tunic I inclined my head to the two Altmer before returning my attention to the sickly elf. The color had already begun to creep back into his skin, his emerald eyes already blinking away their unfocused haziness in favor of lucidity.

"You need to rest but you should be fine in a half hour or so," I advised, throwing my cloak around my shoulders. He scoffed, struggling upright until he had his feet planted on the floor, "I'm sure I've been ill before. I'm quite aware how to take care of myself."

"The fact that there wasn't a single curative potion between the three of you begs to differ," the words tumbled out before I could stop them but the Justiciar was too tired to react, leaning forward and rubbing his face in his hands. "I'll be going now," I mumbled, edging for the door.

"Wait."

I stopped in my tracks, longingly eyeing the doors. The Justiciar remained seated, his face in one hand, "Talmo, Fairenwe, leave us," he growled against his palm. Abruptly both guards fled the room, barely giving me time to step away from the door as they flung it open mere inches from my nose. In a moment the door sealed like a vacuum, sucking the air from my lungs. I waited for him to speak, unsure what to do or say as his body continued to absorb and strengthen from the potion. Just when I was about to burst, to do anything to put a dent in the thickly thin air, he got to his feet.

"You've never asked me how I learned your history," his voice was back to its soft strength, a quiet threat lacing every drop of sound. He removed his shirt, tossing the damp fabric to the ground and moving to his wardrobe. I stiffened, clutching the hem of my cloak as my eyes moved over the elf's golden skin and the roll of the muscles beneath. I grit my teeth, glaring at the dimples on his lower back that showed just above the dark waistline of his pants. When he hooked his thumbs under the lip of the fabric I whipped around to stare at a wall. "I didn't – " I swallowed thickly, pressing a hand over my suddenly cumbersome throat, "I didn't think you'd tell me. Figured you'd just say it was Thalmor business."

He made an appreciative sound, "so you're not as stupid as I thought." I huffed, popping out my hip and crossing my arms, "what a _compliment_. My thanks that your supreme being recognizes a modicum of intelligence in this lowly creature," I bit the words at the wall before me. "Phynaster guide me, you are insufferable," I grumbled.

"How is it that you have such knowledge of Tamriel's history and gods men have no business worshipping?" he snapped, ferocity exchanged for exasperation as he buckled his robes. I silently mocked him towards the wall, scrunching my nose and damning Talos with a smarmy, high elven expression.

"I don't see how that's any of your business but I feel like bragging, so I'll tell you," I raised my nose at the wall, a smirk curling the corner of my mouth. He may be some well-informed and highly educated Altmer but I was the one that held an air of mystery, the thought had me feeling more than a bit smug.

"A travelling Spinner of Y'ffre happened upon my orphanage when I was still a whelp. He was interested in me, almost as if the Bosmer already knew about what had and had yet to come into my life," by now I knew that was the case exactly. To this day I still scrounged and relived every scrap of memory I held of the man, occasionally discovering sly little prophecies about my life hidden in those golden words.

"The elf fascinated me, enthralled me with tales of Valenwood and the Green Pact he lived by. In exchange for telling him all about my childhood with the Reachmen he taught me how to read and write by way of books on the et'Ada, on Anu and Padomay, had me transcribe the tales he told of the ill fated Snow Elves that had me shaking with hatred and fear of the Dwemer," my eyes widened at the memory, a smile spreading across my lips as if the excitement of being told the story for the first time flowed through my heart.

"I learned of the Red Year, of Vivec and the Hist, everything from that Spinner. He left after a time; the parting was a cruel blow. It wasn't until after he left I realized I'd begun to see him as a father figure," I pressed my lips together as the vivid energy in my veins fizzled into an old somber ache, then shook my shoulders to dispel the pain.

"I'd like to believe I'm fairly educated, I read whatever I can get my hands on, however that's a difficult task in this land of lackluster scholars," I finished with a resentful huff. "He wasn't a big fan of Alinor," I added, insulting the origins of the third Aldmeri Dominion.

"Ah, just like that you go from being a wonder back to an ugly stupid girl," Ondolemar sighed. I twisted around, preparing to insult him from Oblivion and back while pointing an accusatory finger only to unintentionally dig the digit against the mer's too close stomach. I jumped back, clacking my jaw shut and withdrawing my hand as if his skin burnt. He smiled cruelly, all hints of illness long since bled from his flesh as he stepped forward, casting me in shadow. I gulped, not moving back if only for my locked knees.

"Albeit ugly, you believe yourself well versed with history. So tell me, what do you know of the Perquisite of Coitus?" he slid a hand against the wall just past my shoulder as I tried not to gape. My cinnamon skin burning with heat I dug my fingers into the tunic fabric over my belly, horrified at the indecency of the question. "Ondolemar don't ask such salacious things," I tried to snap back but my words had come out breathless and weak even to my own ears. He chuckled, the velvet sound making me hunch my shoulders nearly up to my ears.

"Tell me, human," he demanded, the upturned nature of his lips betraying his amusement. I couldn't help ducking away; the air between us had become unbearable. I stopped in front of the fire with my back to him; a stirring in my lower belly telling me it wasn't a good idea to face the elf. "The Perquisite was a pact between the Direnni elves and the human Nedes," I bit my tongue, hoping this small torture was enough to satisfy him. I jumped at the words murmured just against the shell of my ear, "I forget what it is for, human, you must remind me." He stood so close I could feel his warmth. The ghostly touch burned me in ways a flame never could.

"An elf had the right to engage in, in – " I flinched as the Justiciar breathed against my ear, trailing his long fingers a hair's breadth from my exposed arms. I was frozen in thought and form, immobilized by his ethereal ministrations and the trembling linger he left in his wake. I was near to bursting, with tears or laughter or screaming I did not know, but at the same time I yearned to feel more. My mind and body warred between rationale and betrayal, my skin aflame in ghastly tension and heat. He nipped my gently pointed ear and the words fell out like a snow slide, "intercourse. The elves could have any humans they desired, it was their right," I gasped.

The stillness in the room cracked like spun sugar as I tried to pull away, fearful of the excitement curling in my middle. Ondolemar had been expecting the move, his arms snaking around my waist and pressing hard against the scar on my stomach. I cried out as bolts of electric pain cramped, gritting my teeth and hissing while I was hauled back into his chest. I continued to struggle, tears prickling my eyes as he walked us back, dropping into the stone chair set before the fireplace. The Altmer kept his hand pressed over my wound, occasionally digging his fingertips into the damaged flesh when I thrashed too viciously in his arms. I grasped at his wrist, using what little strength I could muster past the pain to try and push from his hold.

Ondolemar focused on my cloak, unlatching and tossing it aside in favor of biting into the curve of my throat. I bucked in his lap, yelping through a clenched jaw as he kneaded my skin between his teeth and swirled his warm tongue over the abused flesh. So distracted was I by his wet suckling lips that he had my leggings unlaced entirely before I noticed. He wrapped a toned arm around my shoulders, pinning me as the hand tormenting my stomach dipped lower until it pressed against my core.

"What are you doing?!" I choked as he began to roll his fingers against the hot flesh. I jerked my hips from his lap, twisting in near desperation as he continued to slowly press into my slit, his palm hot and sweaty against my lower belly while he bit and kissed my ear. "You misunderstand, you're in no position to be making demands," he growled, the rich thickness of his voice sent a shudder through my body that was met by his fingers as they slipped inside**.**

He laughed at the pathetic squeak in the back of my throat, my chin bowed and face turned away as he idly explored my body and nipped at the now sensitive junction of my neck and shoulder. Using the hand hidden in my breeches he forced me into his lap, the pressure from his hand and the stiffness of his manhood on my bottom had my knees quivering. I was conflicted, my body yearning in every facet for his but knowing that he could only ever hurt me. I wasn't going to find a lover in the Justiciar, but I couldn't convince myself that I didn't want him. In a tempest of hate and lust I reached back and grabbed a handful of the elf's silver white hair, yanking the silken strands until he growled in frustration. His fingers, now slick from their exploration, began to draw the length of my sinful lips, eliciting fluttery spasms and quiet moans when his touch circled the sensitive rosebud crowning my womanhood. We remained like that, Ondolemar exploring me to his heart's content as my struggles lessened into only the quietest of protests. That was until he began to dip his fingers deeper.

"You can't!" I violently grabbed his wrist, digging my nails into the golden flesh to still the movement. Caught off guard he allowed the restraint but made no moves to fully remove himself, "perhaps your knowledge of the Perquisite is not as extensive as it ought be. Let me show you how comprehensive the pact truly is," he grinned against my cheek. I shook my head, clamping my thighs shut over the intrusive fingers.

"You're behaving like a terrified maiden," he snapped, loosing the arm around my shoulders in favor of attempting to pry my legs apart. I twisted in his lap, trying to fend off the hands and what they would unknowingly do, "that's because _I am a terrified maiden_," my voice cracked. I continued to try and extricate myself from his hold while he remained silent, for once not immediately replying with something snotty. His stasis didn't last for long.

Ondolemar stood, lifting me in his arms and moving to the bed. I dug my heels against the ground when I realized our destination but it did nothing to stop him as I was shoved down onto the stone bed, the Justiciar straddling me and pinning me under his weight. I kicked and shoved at him, biting my lip as frustrated tears shone in my eyes, my face flushing miserably. He lowered his mouth beside my ear, sliding his hands under my tunic and slowly pulling it up even as I tried to hold it in place.

"Looks like I'll just have to do something about that," he purred. My tunic was ripped away, my bra band following suit as he bit and nibbled on my ears. My voice broke from a dry sob, my eyes flying open as his mouth descended briefly to my chest, stinging bites nursing my breasts as hot lips kissed the sting away. Heat coiled in my womanhood and I arched beneath his touch. Ondolemar leaned back, removing his own tunic and unlacing his pants. My gaze raked over his shining body, glistening golden orange in the firelight. Over every curve and defined dip in his toned physique, to the light dusting of pale hair that descended from his navel to the hard length beneath. I gasped, shuddering in want at the mere sight of him. I clamped my eyes shut, unsure if I was ready for what was to come.

He had us both stripped despite my reluctant struggling, and now pinned beneath him with our bare bodies pressed together. I was panicking. He sighed, muttering irritably when I clamped my thighs together. With one unforgiving push he separated my knees and forced his hips between them. I gasped when I felt the rigid press of his manhood over my lower lips; the touch scorching as I tried to wriggle away. The movement only succeeded in creating more friction, his hard flesh sliding against my wet lips. He held me in place, pinning my wrists with one hand and pressing his other forearm over my throat, putting enough pressure down that my eyesight began to sparkle. I blinked through misty bloodshot eyes up at the Justiciar, feeling the silken strands of his silver hair hanging free and tracing against my cheeks.

He stilled, both of us catching our breath as we lay on the brink. We were on the precipice of something neither of us could take back. His face flushed copper above me, his eyes dark and heavy with lust. I ached for him now, my body as hungry as it was unsure. Impatiently I pushed myself against him but he restrained himself. The Justiciar slid his fingers across my cheek, brushing hair from my face as I shivered beneath him. I leaned into the brief touch, craving the sensitivity in it.

Slowly he pushed inside. I whined, pressure and a stinging burn growing as he delved ever so slowly deeper into my core. Above me Ondolemar groaned bodily, shuddering and hissing curses. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I felt myself stretch around his member, my virgin body barely making room to accommodate the engorged thickness of my first partner. When he fully hilted himself I could hardly breath from the arm against my throat, my hands numb from where he gripped my wrists and my legs trembling as he lay against me, in me. The Justiciar waited, taking a moment to calm himself and breath heavily overhead, the tearing burn filling every point of my small form beneath his.

"It hurts," I croaked, tears falling freely down my cheeks as I tried to adjust my hips. Was it supposed to hurt this badly? I felt like I was being ripped open, the sting all encompassing. I almost missed the soft brush of his lips over mine as he looked down into my eyes. Tenderness was mixed in with the lust and savagery. Then he began to thrust.

It was not a gentle movement; he took no consideration for me as his hips rocked viciously against mine. I fought against his hold, twisting and crying out at every insertion as the mer satisfied his carnal desires with my body. His hips beat against mine with merciless slaps, my small body entirely overwhelmed by every aspect of the domineering Justiciar. He picked up his pace, beginning to pierce me deeper and more brutally with each quick penetration. With the pain came a new sensation, a building pleasure that ached just as badly as my stolen maidenhood. Tension coiled and held hotly in my lower belly, my back arching against my will as I began to gasp at the mix of conflicting sensations.

His eyes never left mine as I squirmed and weakly fought his hold. I needed to touch him, to caress and abuse his golden flesh beneath my nails. Occasionally Ondolemar would dip down and dart his tongue over my tears, nipping my lips or suckling on the tips of my ears. At some point he let go of my wrists in favor of exploring my body, teasing my breasts. He scraped his nails across the soft flesh, abusing the buds of my nipples all the while continuing to hold me down with his other arm. Defiantly I scratched at his arms, leaving bright copper trails over his shoulders and back that only seemed to make his hips pump faster. I urged him on, drawing long bleeding trails over his shoulders with my blunted nails, craving the pain he gave back. By now my whole body was jarred with each thrust, bouncing from the force of his lustful hips and the engorged cock stretching my bleeding womanhood. I knotted my fingers in his silken hair, pulling sharply on the soft strands eliciting a feral growl. The sound had more of an effect on me than it had any right to, my core clenching unexpectedly at his possessive reaction and a dizzy lightness filling my thoughts. It caused his pace to pick up even more, assaulting my body as he neared climax. When his cruel hand slid down to my stomach and dug into the wound there, I screamed.

Every ounce of pain ripped through me as pleasure filled the broken fissures between. My climax bubbled up from the very base of my being, taking control even as I tried to resist. Hot wetness coated his pounding cock as he pumped through my orgasm, baring his teeth at the clenching muscles holding him in a vice grip. I dug my fingers into his hair, arching until my sweaty breasts pressed into his chest.

As I tightened around him he pulled back and crushed into me one final time. With a guttural moan against my ear he came, his throbbing member filling me. Ondolemar collapsed, gasping for breath and falling slack. He removed the arm from my throat, finally allowing me to catch my breath. I couldn't move, the occasional twitch of him inside me sending fluttery clenches through my core. I shuddered when the Justiciar finally rolled off. Cold air hit my sweaty body, chilling me while I let out a quiet moan as he pulled out, pressing my thighs over the warm liquid threatening to spill from my filled core. He pulled me against his bare chest, tugging the pelts over us both. Chancing a look into his eyes I found a tired, smug satisfaction hidden in the emerald green. Somehow I still burned in embarrassment, flushing a deep rouge at his sated gaze.

Exhausted and utterly spent I nuzzled against his chest, shutting my eyes. Fatigue and the natural earthen scent of him threatened to pull me into sleep. He hummed, sliding his fingers through my messy braids, his hand coming to a rest wrapped around my back. I returned the touch, curling up against his leanly muscled form and sliding a hand against his waist. With a final tender touch of his lips against my hair, Ondolemar settled in for bed. I bit my lip, clenching my eyes shut against the ache in my heart. Against how right it felt tucked against the Justiciar.

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_**AN: ;)  
>EDIT: So I edited this chapter a little after getting some responses that it was more Non Con than Dub Con. It's still toeing the line but maybe it's a little more for what I was going for now :3<strong>_


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning I awoke alone.

Thank the Gods.

I needed some time to face myself, the previous night's deflowering thundering back into my thoughts the moment my eyes snapped open. For a time I sat on the edge of the bed, my head hanging in my hands. Of all the conflicting feelings twisting in my gut, a wretched yearning for more was the most powerful. More of his glistening shoulders, more of the citrus firelight glinting through his unbound hair, but mostly I craved the feather brush of his lips. The small sensitive touches, by Oblivion even the brutality of it all. Dibella herself must have molded that mer, _by the Gods_. I shook myself, knocking the heel of my hand against my forehead. I had to get out of Markarth, this place wasn't good for me.

Gathering my discarded clothes I began to dress. I winced, not expecting the sore ache settled at the apex of my thighs. I suppose I should have, he'd given me such a rutting. At one point I paused to wipe a clean hand cloth over the remnants of our union that still stuck to my inner thighs. Tossing the cloth into the fire I finished dressing and bolted from the Keep. I kept my head down, furtively checking for Thalmor from under my hood as I skirted through the Keep, sticking to the shadows.

Outside I found it was still early morning. I made my way back to Vlindrel Hall without incident, sneaking in and grabbing my pack without anyone noticing. Slipping out of the city I found the cart headed to Falkreath and paid my fee along with the handful of other travelers before taking my seat, wrapping my arms around my meager belongings and trying to keep my thoughts on anything but those small flickers of fondness I'd seen in the Justiciar's eyes the night before. Or how satisfying his weight had felt pressing me into the pelts.

Of all the things to finally spur me into leaving the Reach it was because I was scared of dealing with whatever lay between a mer and I. It was humiliating, but better than staying around him and coping with the knowledge that he had used me and taken my maidenhood for his own gratification. I wasn't about to kid myself, he was Thalmor. Even if he did hold any interest in me it would be a passing phase, a loneliness brought on by his seclusion in the Keep that he sought to quell with my body. Nothing more.

The journey to Falkreath was fairly easy; the driver had hired two mercenaries to sit with us as guards in case of a Forsworn or bandit attack. Luckily nothing that exciting occurred, but the mercs did make for good conversation. One, a female Khajiit, told a tale of being chased by a whole camp of giants and their mammoths only to be saved by a rampaging dragon. She'd beat feet out of there but paused long enough to see a stray hunter rocketed off into the sky by a giant's club, the man volleyed high enough to touch Masser. It was wholly unbelievable but it took my mind off things, so that was nice. Arriving in Falkreath I made straight for Dead Man's Drink, wanting to get a room and drink away half the gold I had left.

Living at an inn was going to be out of my budget but I'd be damned if I didn't deserve a bed tonight. Tomorrow I'll check around for work, there's always someone around wanting some wood chopped. I'd spied an apothecary earlier, there's bound to be some ingredients the proprietor needs gathered up. The Pine Forest was full of deer and elk, killing a few I could tan their skins and sell off the meat and antlers. I stifled a yawn with another gulp of my drink, rubbing my tired eyes. The Jarl may have some bounties I could take if I really became desperate. Or that priest of Arkay might appreciate an extra set of hands with a sturdy stomach to help in his funerary preparations.

If I went to Riverwood Faendal would give me full reign of his home, probably even set me up with a job at the lumber mill. Still, I couldn't. Ditching the Justiciar probably hadn't gone over so hot with my _better half_. The first place he'd look for me was with friends. Faendal or Iriala. Well, that was certainly a short list. I should really try to make friends. The ones in Cidhna mine don't count. Real, proper functioning members of society would be a nice change. Around here I wouldn't have to hide from Forsworn or skirt around my identity. It was a fresh start, a chance to reinvent myself. I wouldn't have to thieve my way through life or sleep on a moldy cloth down in the Warrens.

Settling in on a barstool with another bottle of ale I felt a tap on the shoulder. Turning in my seat I found a road weary wood elf smiling professionally at me. He carried a satchel at his side stuffed with papers. "Sosile of Markarth?"

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, "yes, courier?"

"Ah, good, I've got some mail for you then," he rustled in his pack for a bit before plucking out a thickly folded letter with a plain red seal, "from a friend back in Markarth." I thanked the elf and tipped him, wondering what in the world Faendal or Iriala were sending me mail for already. Had I forgotten something important? Sliding a finger under the seal I hissed as I nicked it against the stiff paper. Popping the wounded digit into my mouth I unfolded the letter and scanned the writing. It fell to the bar, slipping from my shaking hands. I was on my feet in an instant, the barstool scraping across the floorboards before clattering over. I searched for the elf, scanning each face in the inn. He was gone. I glanced over my shoulder, pleading that I'd read it wrong. Once more I examined the message as my breathing hitched.

_Sosile  
><em>_Do you really think I'm done with you?_

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**_AN: Okay I'm sorry I have to do this to you but this story is going on hiatus. I know, I'm a jerk.  
><em>****_BUT college bullshit takes precedence over frisky elves and their wayward lovers. Unfortunately...  
><em>****_TBH I just wanted to write some sexual tension/smut. Good gracious this story turned out long as hell though.  
><em>****_On another note, I have some Dremora stuff in the works now. Just letting you know in case you're into big burly demon men ;)  
>And everyone that's been leaving reviews, y'all are goddamn great.<em>**

**_Thanks again for reading!_**


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